


Pout on Lips

by sullenhearts



Category: The Libertines
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:50:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6132875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullenhearts/pseuds/sullenhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carl is a drag queen. Peter is the new queen at the club he works in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Carl wipes a spot of mascara from the corner of one eye, musses up his hair one more time, and wriggles the short blue dress down again. It is incredibly short, barely skimming the tops of his thighs. If he bent over he’d be leaving nothing to the imagination. Fortunately, his knickers are the same colour as the dress, so all embarrassments should be spared. One last look in the mirror. Yep, he looks okay. He leaves the dressing room and goes backstage, to where the dance troupe are waiting.

Bethany is trying desperately not to cry, wafting her hands in front of her face as if doing so will will the tears back into her eyes. Mary is sitting on a stool, frowning. Josh and Gary look distraught. Carl wants to cuddle the lot of them.

Miss Betty “Legs” Diamond is standing in the wings, ever the professional, not a hair out of place, her make up perfect, her eyes sparkling. Carl can see the tiredness behind her eyes, though, the weariness that is forcing her retirement. Betty, who in civvies is called Michael and has a grown up son and a granddaughter called Lily, has been at the drag queen game for forty years. She deserves a break. She’s been here at Boulevard since well before Carl arrived four years ago. She’s part of the furniture and yet soon, she won’t be. This is her last night.

From the other side of the curtain Carl can hear laughter and loud voices as tonight’s customers take their seats. He sneaks a peek through the curtain at the side of the stage. Normal customers, groups of hen parties in garish flashing headbands and pink sashes, groups of gay men in tight t-shirts and designer jeans, a few straight couples looking as if they’ve fallen in here by accident. The lights go down and a cheer goes up and Carl steps through the curtain, grinning widely. When the crowd simmers down he casts them a disparaging glance. “Fuck me,” he says, “Looking at you lot, there’s a branch of Iceland missing its checkout staff tonight, isn’t there?”

This is met with laughter and Carl smirks. Always start with an insult. Always start with an insult.

*

Betty is great tonight, dancing her very best, spinning and whirling and flashing her knickers at every opportunity. Carl encourages the crowd, telling them it’s Betty’s last night. It seems like everybody’s having a great time, like the sparkle won’t ever wear off. Betty goes out with a literal bang, three fireworks forming plumes around her as she throws her arms up in the air, drinking in the applause. The purple velvet curtains swish closed and the house lights go up. It’s then and only then that Betty bursts into tears.

They get drunk. Carl wipes off most of the make up and changes into a scruffy t-shirt and jeans, his alter-ego Carlita tucked away until Tuesday. It’s past 2am by the time the bar shuts, and all the patrons are cleared out. Stools are dragged to the bar and everyone sits down, some on the bar, some behind it. Carl sits on the bar in front of the stage, his back against the wall, knees raised. John, a tall barman who Carl likes, pours him a large whiskey. Carl sips it, but everyone else is knocking them back tonight, determined to see Betty off in style.

Michael has shucked off all of Betty’s clothes and is wearing a blue shirt and chinos, all the make up scrubbed from his face, his hair sticking up at odd angles after the wig’s been removed. He buys several bottles of champagne and shares it out, kissing everyone as he passes them a glass. Carl smiles at him. “Thanks, love.”

“I’ll miss you, you know.”

“Nah, you won’t. Too busy cruising round the Med, you.”

“No, I mean it, I will. Give me your mobile number, we’ll stay in touch.”

Carl gives him the numbers, but he knows Michael won’t call him. It’s not out of embarrassment or shame, it’s just that once you’re out of this scene, it’s hard to stay connected to it. That’s alright. Carl knows he won’t be here forever either.

Gary bangs on the bar for quiet. He’s the leader of the dance troupe – the Cabaret Cuties – and is a straight, muscled black guy with incredible talent. Carl loves him, thinks he’s one of the most professional people he’s ever worked with. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Gary says, “and those of another disposition,” – cue laughter – “tonight we say goodbye to one of the greats.”

“Oi,” Michael says. “I’m only leaving, not dead.”

“You’re leaving the family,” Gary says. “It won’t be the same without you.”

“I’ll miss you,” Michael says, voice cracking. “I really will.”

By the time Carl gets home it’s after 5am and he’s been awake for almost 20 hours. He never sleeps much, but recently he’s been surviving on two or three hours a night. He’s worried about the future without Betty, what the Cabaret Cuties will do without her, and whether they’ll find another so professional and good. People come from miles to see Betty.

He shares a flat with Josh, who’s a dancer. Josh opens the door, falls over the mat drunk, and slurs his way to bed. Carl throws everything dubious out of the fridge, makes himself a cup of green tea, and heads to bed. Once it’s drunk he pulls down the blackout blind, locates his ear plugs, and settles down to what he hopes is a restful sleep.

*

Gary's yawning when Carl goes into the main hall of the bar on Tuesday night.

"Late night?"

"Aren't they all?" Gary smiles at him though. "How are you?"

"Alright, yeah. You?”

"Yeah, same. Been auditioning replacements for Betty."

"Oh yeah? Anyone good?" Carl goes up to the DJ deck from where he compères and slips some new CDs into the changer.

Gary makes a non-committal noise. They had had a replacement set up weeks before Michael had left, but he'd fallen and broken a knee, probably putting paid to his dancing career. Gary and the others have tried to find someone else, but time has passed and here they are, about to start the week without a star attraction.

Bethany will play Betty's roles and everyone else will cover up the gap so that it's seamless, but it's not the same. The star should be a drag queen, apart from anything, and Bethany's all woman. Carl has first-hand experience of that.

Still, the evening goes well. It's a quiet night, only a few groups of gay men in, but the drinks are 2-for-1 so everyone's drinking pitchers of sickly sweet cocktails which gets them drunk fast and makes them more appreciative, catcalling and cheering. Wednesday is the same, Thursday has a bunch of drunk students turn up, meaning Carl has to actually fire real insults at them until they simmer down.

On Fridays Carl gets to the club early and helps to get things ready, and watches while the dancers run through a quick rehearsal. They've got a new tap dancing number going on, which makes Carl smile. Carl is standing in the DJ box with his headphones held up to his good ear, working out a playlist for the night, when the door at the back of the hall opens. Carl looks up, expecting another colleague, but instead he sees only a tall man, someone he doesn't know.

How the fuck did he get in? Carl thinks. "Sorry, mate, we're not open yet."

"Yeah, no, sorry. Are you Gary?" The man rubs fingers through his already chaotic hair.

"Not me, no. Gaz!" Carl yells up to the stage.

Gary appears from one of the wings. "Yeah?"

"This one wants you..."

The stranger smiles shyly. "I'm Peter. I heard you were auditioning."

"I was, yeah," Gary says. "You're the one that didn't turn up."

"Had a bit of trouble getting here, yeah." The man's voice is soft, and he dips his head, as if ashamed. "Sorry."

Gary jumps down from the stage on to the bar and then to the ground. "Not a great start, yeah."

"I am really sorry. I tried to phone but my phone's been out of charge."

"I expect good timekeeping."

"And I'm usually the best. I promise. I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

Gary sighs. "Alright. So you're....?"

"Miss Petronella Ruby, yes." Peter's voice takes on a more confident tone, one that Carl recognises from other queens he's worked with. "Formerly of Blackpool's Funny Girls, and hoping to make a new life here."

Gary nods. "Do you want to get changed?"

Peter nods, so Gary shows him backstage. When he reappears, Carl can barely believe it's the same person. Petronella is beautiful, even though Peter obviously hasn't had much time to get ready. He's wearing a sheer pink dress and massive pink glittery heels. His wig is blonde bubble curls and his underwear is black, staring out entirely obviously beneath the pink dress. He's not wearing any make up or tights, and Carl can see his legs are in need of a wax. But he stands with grace and confidence, staring at Gary. "Would you like me to dance?"

"General idea, yeah. Carl, put some music on, yeah?"

Carl nods and presses play on what he's been fucking with. It's Poker Face, which Carl isn't sure he's including in his set even though he likes it. Peter starts to dance, catching the rhythm in his hips. Gary jumps on to the bar and strides on to the stage, dancing with Peter, improvising as he goes along. Petronella looks better with someone dancing with her, though. Peter lets Gary lead him, twirling and whirling.

When the music comes to an end, Gary takes a mock bow at Peter, who smiles. "Alright," Gary says, "You can have a three month trial, okay?"

Peter beams. "Thank you. When do I start?"

"Tonight, please."

"Alright, cool. Have you got somewhere I can get a shower?"

They don't have any facilities backstage. Gary isn't going home, but he knows Carl lives close enough. He raises his eyebrows.

"Alright," Carl says. "Come back to mine, yeah?"

*

"Thanks for this," Peter says, following Carl up the steps to the flat. "Been sleeping rough a few nights, I need a shower."

"It's not a problem. I'm not sure if Josh is in though..."

"Is that your boyfriend?"

Carl looks up quickly, surprised. "No. Just my flatmate."

"Oh, right, I just assumed you were gay, I mean –"

"Oh, I am, I just – he's not."

"Right."

Carl frowns but steps into the main room of their flat, a big open living-dining-kitchen space that stretches from the front to the back of their building. "Josh?"

Josh steps out of the bathroom at the other end of the hallway, toothbrush in mouth. "Nng?"

"Oh, hi. This is Peter. Gaz has just given him a job."

Josh gives a thumbs up and disappears back into the bathroom.

"Tea?" Carl asks Peter.

"Please, yeah." Peter sits down at the table.

"Milk, sugar?"

"Milk, two sugars. Thanks."

Carl pulls out cups and flicks the kettle on.

"Really, thanks," Peter says.

"It's just a shower yeah, it's not a problem. Crash here, too, if you like. There's the sofa if you want it."

"Are you sure? I'd really appreciate it."

"Course. Josh won't mind."

"Josh won't mind what?" Josh asks, coming in.

"If Peter stays here a couple of nights."

"Oh, yeah, course not. No problem."

"Thank you," Peter says. "Seriously."

After the tea is drunk, Carl shows Peter through to the bathroom and even finds him a clean towel. Peter locks the door and Carl hears the shower start up.

He goes into his bedroom and into the tiny en-suite bathroom which backs on to the house bathroom. He shaves daily, always exfoliating first, then shaving carefully with a new blade. He shaves his face, armpits, legs, and forearms. He's got dark colouring, olive skin and dark hair, and his hair grows quickly, so he has to shave daily, even when he's not working.

He walks over to the club with his clothes and make up in bags slung over his shoulders, never knowing what he'll want to wear or look like. He and Josh and Peter walk across together, Josh dressed in the smart black shirt and trousers that all the bar staff wear.

Backstage, Peter introduces himself and is shown to a dressing room, shared with someone else. Everyone's had a switcharound due to Betty's departure. Carl busies himself with his make up, dabbing the thick foundation on to his skin.

In the wings later, he can hear the crowds come in. He runs through his opening gambit in his head, chewing his lip nervously. He's aware of a quiet behind him and a rustle of fabric. Everyone has fallen quiet. Carl turns around. Peter has come through to the wings.

He is beautiful. She is beautiful. Petronella is dressed ready for her first number, a Beauty and the Beast medley. She has long blonde hair, a beautiful doll face painted on, and a gorgeous blue silk dress. Peter is thin, but Petronella is curvy, with Peter's clavicles showing off an impressive cleavage. He's tall, too, but made even taller by gorgeous gold heels. Carl has to look upwards for about a year.

"Hiya," Peter whispers.

"You – wow."

"Hmmm?"

"You look amazing."

"Oh." Peter touches the wig self-consciously. "Thanks. So do you."

Carl, as Carlita, looks like a cheap hooker mostly. That's the act, but now he feels especially cheap standing next to Petronella.

He starts to say more but Adam, the backstage manager, is flashing his light. Carlita needs to get her cheap hooker arse on stage.

*

Peter dances amazingly for someone who's had barely an hour to learn the moves. There are mistakes but they're small ones. Carl can't stop watching him.

They drink a couple of whiskies with Josh and Gary before locking up. The three of them are quiet in their block of flats, because it's nearly 3am.

Carl pulls a spare single duvet and an old pillow out of the cupboard in the hall and piles them on the sofa for Peter. Peter comes out of the bathroom scrubbed clean of make up, fresh-faced and smiling.

"Cheers," he says, and lays the duvet out on the sofa.

It's comical, though. Carl and Josh have 2 two-seater sofas, not huge ones. Peter is over six feet tall and can't fully lie down. He tries his best to curl up but sort of can't.

"Come and share my bed," Carl says.

"Eh?"

"Well, you look a bit squashed like that."

"Nah I'll be fine, don't worry."

"Peter, mate, seriously. I've got a king-sized bed, there's plenty of space."

Peter looks unconvinced for a while longer but finally follows Carl through.

Carl's bedroom is huge. He loves it. It's got the big bed, a sofa, a huge table, four wardrobes, a chest of drawers, and double doors which lead out on to the balcony.

"Wow," Peter says.

"Thanks."

"Seriously. Is the other room like this?"

"Slightly smaller, and the balcony is just a Juliet one, but yeah. Oh, and there's no en-suite."

Peter peeks into the small shower room. "That's amazing. Did you beat Josh up for it or something?"

"Nah, I lived here before he did."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, with my ex."

"Ah, right."

Carl pulls the dark heavy curtains shut and switches on the bedside light. He and Peter dance around each other awkwardly getting changed and ready for bed, but finally they are in bed, miles of mattress between them.

Carl can tell that Peter is appreciating the comfort of a bed by the way that he's stretching happily, making contented little noises.

Carl reaches and turns off the bedside light. He is soon asleep, and sleeps for twelve hours.

*

When they wake up, they sort of look at each other awkwardly like people who had sex and now can’t remember the other’s name.

“Thanks,” Peter says, sitting up. His back is littered with freckles. Carl wants to touch them, maybe join them together with his fingers.

Where did that come from? He – no. Just, no.

“Thanks?” he echoes, confused. He tears his eyes away from Peter.

“For letting me share the bed,” Peter says, almost in a whisper.

“No worries,” Carl says. He gets up, naked except for his boxers, stretches, and heads towards the bathroom.

“I’ll make tea,” Peter says.

“Cheers,” Carl says, yawning.

When he comes out of the bathroom, there’s a steaming cup of tea on his bedside table. Peter is sitting on the end of the bed, dressed in jeans and a blue jumper that has holes in the elbows. It’s ridiculously endearing.

Carl pulls on a t-shirt and gets back under the duvet. “Thanks,” he says, picking up his tea.

“Least I can do. I’ll get out of your hair as soon as I can, yeah.”

Carl shrugs. “Not exactly objecting.”

“Sharing your bed with a total stranger is probably going a bit far.”

“You’d have been uncomfortable on the couch.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Peter ducks his head. He’s got a patch of grey hair behind his ear and he touches it self-consciously often.

There’s a few moments’ silence. “How’ve you ended up in London, anyway?”

Peter sighs. “I was living with someone… It didn’t work out. I didn’t have anywhere else to live, and I didn’t feel like sticking around. Blackpool’s a small place. I saw the advert for the Cuties and thought I might as well chance me arm in old London town.”

Carl nods. “Where are you from?”

“Army brat.” He shrugs and touches the grey patch again. “Grew up all over. Cyprus, for a long while.”

“Oh yeah? My dad’s parents had a villa there when I was younger.”

“Really?” Peter grins. “Did you like it? Where was it?”

“I loved it. We used to spend weeks there. In Limassol, it’s really beautiful. They lived there half the year, they really settled in as locals.”

Peter nods. “Amazing, yeah. We had a good time in Cyprus. We weren’t far from Limassol.”

“Your accent is all over the place.”

“Yeah.” Peter smiles. “Just a bit. Where are you from?”

“Here, more or less. I worked in Cannes for a while.”

Peter gives a low whistle. “No way.”

“Yes way. It’s every bit like you’d imagine.”

Peter laughs and drains his cup. “So what’s Boulevard like?”

“It’s good. I mean, it’s not Cannes…” Carl grins. “We’re a tight group. Gary’s a bit of a slavedriver but he’s really talented and he has a lot of ideas… And he’s pretty good at listening to us, if we’ve got ideas too.”

“Do you dance a lot? You’re the compère, right?”

“Am indeed. Yeah, I do dance. Probably two numbers a night? I’m better at the compèring, though. Better at insulting everyone and camping it up.”

“Gary wants me there soon to start rehearsing.”

“Great, I’ll come across too. I just need a shower first.”

“Me too,” Peter says. He stands up. “Oh – I don’t suppose you’ve got a razor I can pinch?”

“Course I do,” Carl says. “What kind of drag queen do you think I am?”

*

Josh pours Carl a whiskey before the last punters have even left the building that night. “You look like you need it.”

It’s been a rough Wednesday night, filled with hecklers and bored customers, and Carl knocks back the drink and hands the glass back to Josh for a refill.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Josh pours a double measure and passes it back to Carl.

“Who?”

“Yer new woman, Miss Petronella.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s good. She’s brilliant.”

“Is he staying long, in the flat?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s no worries,” Josh says with a smile, “if you want him to.”

Carl just raises his eyebrows and downs the second whiskey. He’s still in all his gear and this wig’s starting to itch. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Bad night?” Peter says as they’re walking home.

Josh has gone out with John and Bethany and a couple of others, so it’s just the two of them.

“Just rowdy. You get that sometimes.”

“You’re good at telling em to shut up.”

“I’ve been at it a long time.”

“How long?”

Carl thinks back. “Ten years, more or less.”

“Wow, that is a long time. How old are you?”

“A lady never tells,” Carl laughs. “Twenty eight.”

“Oh – me too! Just turned.”

“I’m not fair off twenty-nine.” In actuality, Carl’s birthday is ten days off, but he’s not about to tell Peter that. He hates birthdays. They’re pointless and depressing.

When they get back to the flat, Carl says, “Tea?”

“You’re a man with a healthy tea obsession, I like it.” Peter puts his stuff down and flops on to the sofa.

“What kind?”

“What are you having?”

“Green.”

“Mmm, I’ll have the same.”

Carl opens the cupboard to get the box out. He has a little bit of an addiction to tea; there’s around thirty different types in here. Currently he’s enjoying green tea when he gets home from work. It’s a ritual. He makes two cups and passes one to Peter, then sits on the other couch and sips slowly.

“Perfect cuppa,” Peter says when he finishes his.

“Thanks.” Carl yawns, even though he had more sleep last night that he’s had in weeks.

“I’ll let you go to bed.”

“You can still share with me.”

“Nah, come on, that’s not fair.”

“How long were you sleeping rough?”

“Couple of days.” Peter’s eyes slide from Carl.

“How long really?”

“Two weeks,” he says in a whisper.

“Come and share the bed.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“So? I’ve done things far more intimate with men I don’t even know the name of.”

A smile twitches at Peter’s lips. “I’m intrigued.”

“Haven’t you done that?” Carl’s teasing, but he realises that actually he doesn’t know if Peter is gay or straight or something else entirely. “Shit, I’m sorry… I don’t know anything about you really.”

“Forget it,” Peter says. He’s smiling slightly.

They go into the bedroom and Carl opens the doors. “Fancy a cigarette?” Peter’s clothes smell slightly of smoke, and his fingers give him away as a smoker, but Carl’s guessing he hasn’t had the money to buy any in a while. Carl would be going mad.

“Alright,” Peter says, and follows him out on to the balcony.

Carl offers him the packet and the lighter. Peter catches his wrist instead of taking the lighter, and leans down towards it. Carl flicks it, taken by the sweetness of the gesture. Peter lights the cigarette and straightens up, taking a deep drag.

“Thank you,” he says, when he’s exhaled.

“Any time. Look, if you need some money, Gary’ll sub you some from your wages.”

“You reckon?”

“I know he will. Ask him tomorrow.”

“I will,” Peter says, and nods.

*

The next night Peter finds Carl when the club has shut. He’s grinning widely. “You were right.”

“Course I was,” Carl jokes. “About what?”

“Gary gave me an advance on my wages.”

“Ah, told you he would.” Carl’s getting changed in his and Bethany’s dressing room. He pulls at the lace of the corset he’s been wearing tonight.

“Need some help?” Peter steps behind him and starts to loosen the ties, his other hand on Carl’s shoulder to keep him still.

“Thanks,” Carl says.

“Let me take you out to say thank you.”

“For what?”

“Letting me stay at yours? Feeding me over the past couple of days?”

“Alright, if you’re sure.”

“I am. Anywhere good for breakfast?”

“Course there is. Let me just get all this off my face, and I’m all yours.”

“I quite like it, you know. Such a pretty face, all lacquered up…”

Carl catches his eye in the mirror. Is he flirting? Is Carl? Gawd, where’s this even come from?

“I’ll leave the eyeliner on,” he says, and then slips the corset off when Peter’s finished with it.

He does, too. Usually he doesn’t like to be seen in public with any make up on in case anyone shouts abuse at him or beats him up. It hasn’t happened in years, sure, but that doesn’t mean that it won’t happen. Carl passes as straight and usually that’s what he likes.

But a pretty boy tells you he likes your make up and suddenly all common sense goes out the window. Carl’s sitting in an extremely greasy spoon at 6.30am with eyeliner and mascara still on, and just that alone makes him extremely flirty. He keeps looking at Peter from under his eyelashes, coquettishly.

Peter keeps smiling back like Carl’s the only person who matters.

*

Gary and Peter are working on some choreography in the club on a sticky Saturday afternoon three days later while Carl works on some new material. Around him the bar staff are setting out the reserved signs on tables, bringing out glasses, and generally tidying up the place. Peter and Gary are over by the music deck where Carl does his DJing, skipping through CDs. Carl isn't paying attention until he hears his name mentioned.

He looks up. "What?"

"Peter's got an idea for a new dance," Gary says.

"Oh yeah? And you want me?"

"Think so, yeah," Peter says. "How do you fancy being the emcee?"

"Cabaret?" Carl raises his eyebrows.

"Ten points to the boy in blue," Peter says, smiling.

"Cabaret?" Gary echoes.

"Yeah," Carl says, seeing the appeal. He bursts into song. "Bye mein leiber Herr, farewell mein leiber Herr –"

"It was a fine affair – but now it's over!" Peter joins in, grinning.

"Exactly!" Carl says. "I like it – so I'm the emcee and you're Sally?"

Peter nods. "All eyeliner and bowler hats – both of us."

"Yeah, yeah, and fishnets and tiny shorts–"

Gary throws up his arms in defeat, shaking his head. "I'm sorry I asked... Work on it, though, yeah? Bring me what you got next week."

“Thanks,” Peter says, and grins again.


	2. Chapter 2

“No, Carl, Jesus Christ…”

“I’m trying my hardest, fuck’s sake.” 

“Who taught you to fucking dance? Must be turning in their grave.”

“Oi.”

Peter grins, wiping sweat from his forehead into his hair. “You can’t follow.”

“So? I’m used to leading.”

“You’re a drag queen? You’d have thought some fucker would’ve taught you to follow before now…”

“Fuck off and just show me again.”

Peter takes his hand and breaks into the dance steps from the end of the turn. He’s got Carl sitting on a chair with his back turned to the audience for most of the first song, while he does what is basically a lap dance around Carl and sings the song “Cabaret” itself. The music segues into “Money” and Carl stands up, tips the chair, and follows Peter’s steps in a duet. Then the music switches again to “Mein Herr” and Peter takes Carl’s hand and leads him around the dance floor singing to him. 

Only Carl can’t follow and they keep bumping into each other and into the stage wings. It’s 1pm and they’ve been at this since ten. 

“You’ll have to be better than that before you show Gaz,” John says from the bar. He’s restocking bottles of wine in the fridges but he’s stopped to watch them. “Tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“We’ll be ready,” Carl says.

“Or I’ll die trying,” Peter says. He counts to four and they start again. 

Carl stumbles again and hits the chair, almost tripping over it.

“Awful,” John says, shaking his head.

“I’m trying,” Carl says. “I don’t see you up here helping.”

“Not a dancer, though, is he?” Peter says, leading Carl back to the starting spot.

“Course he is,” Carl says, looking down at Peter’s feet and trying to not stand on them. “Everyone here is.”

“Are you?” Peter stops to look at John.

“He was a stripper,” Carl says, not letting go of Peter’s hand. “Head Chippendale or something, weren’t you?”

“Fuck off,” John says mildly. “Yes, Peter, I’m a dancer.”

“They dance on the bar, you know,” Carl says, nudging Peter’s hip to get him to start up again. “John and Josh and sometimes Gary.”

“When?” Peter demands. “I need it. I need you being girls in the cabaret like in the film.”

“I’ve never seen it,” John says.

“No way.” Peter drops Carl’s hand in surprise. “Right, that calls for a film afternoon. Ours, tomorrow? Carl’s place, I mean.”

“Alright,” John shrugs. 

“Make a thing of it,” Carl says. “Invite everyone.”

“Cool,” Peter nods, and takes Carl’s hand again.

*

The next day is Tuesday. Carl’s not working, a rarity, but Peter is, and loads of the others are, so the film is starting at 1.30pm and everyone is under strict instructions to arrive no later than 1.15. Peter and Carl go to Tesco and load up on crisps and dips and veggies and pizza, plus soft drinks because everyone’s working. Peter is buzzing – he’s bouncing on his feet the entire way there and back. 

“I love stuff like this,” he says when Carl holds the door to the flat open for Peter. 

“Films?”

“Getting everyone around to hang out. Do you hang out a lot?”

Carl thinks. “Not loads. I mean, Josh and me do, course. John, sometimes. Bethany and Mary sometimes, too.”

“Not Gary?”

“Never Gary. He’s really private.”

“What’s his story?”

Carl starts to unpack stuff on to the breakfast bar. “No one really knows? He’s been at Boulevard for longer than I have. He grew up in America but he’s been over here for years. He lives with his girlfriend, Polly. She’s really nice.”

“Huh.” 

“Everyone’s got a story, Peter.”

“Course,” Peter nods. “What’s yours, sunshine?”

Carl meets his eyes for a long moment. “I’m an open book,” he says eventually.

“Yeah, right,” Peter says. 

There’s a knock at the door before either of them can say anything else. 

*

It goes well. There’s Josh and John and Bethany, and Gary and Polly both come too, and at the end of the film Josh says, “Show us the dance, then.”

So they do, pushing back one of Carl’s sofas to clear a bit more space. Carl’s been going over the steps in his head and although he’s still got to keep looking at Peter’s feet, he’s almost there. There’s no stumbling or tripping. He even enjoys it.

“Bravo!” John says at the end, clapping. 

“By jove, I think he’s got it!” Peter exclaims, and hugs him in for a brief second. 

“It’s good,” Gary says. “Can it be ready for Saturday?”

“Sure,” Carl says. 

“We need costumes,” Peter says. “I bought the fishnets and bowler hats, but…”

Gary pulls out his wallet and shucks out three twenty pound notes. “I want receipts,” he says sternly.

“Thanks mate,” Peter says, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“Do you still want us?” John asks. “To do what?”

“I certainly do.” Peter starts a few steps, staying in a straight line. 

Josh and John get up to join him, and they take it slowly, dancing along to Peter’s rhythm. They get it almost right, to everyone’s delight. 

Peter has to work that night, so he goes across to the club with everyone else at 6pm, cheerfully calling bye to Carl as he goes. 

Carl mopes. He’s got used to Peter being around, so it jars now that he isn’t. He has a long bath, full of bubbles from a bottle of something he unearths from the back of the bathroom cupboard. He shaves all over, taking time over it, exfoliating first, then using cooling moisturiser afterwards. He languishes naked on the bed to get dry and reads for a while. 

He’s so tired, but he never usually sleeps more than six hours a night. Six is an improvement, and that’s only happened since he’s been sharing with Peter. Before that it would be as few as three or four. Now that Peter’s not here, Carl’s feeling a bit apprehensive about even trying to sleep.

He goes through all the motions – green tea, pulling the curtains, brushing his teeth carefully in the ensuite. He reads for a while, and feels his eyelids drooping. He puts the book down and switches off the light. 

He’s awoken by Peter coming in. There’s light coming in round the edges of the curtains, but Carl’s got no idea what time it is. 

“Ssshh,” Peter says loudly. “Go back to sleep.”

“’S okay,” Carl mutters. “You drunk?”

“Little bit. Bethany compèred, she’s not as good as you.”

“Bloody know she isn’t.”

Peter laughs. Carl’s got his eyes shut but he feels the bed dip as Peter sits on the edge of it. “Missed you.”

“Missed being there. Always do.”

Peter goes to the bathroom and when he comes back Carl’s almost asleep. He mutters goodnight but Carl can’t summon up enough consciousness to say it back. 

*

Carl wakes Peter up the next morning when he accidentally lets the bathroom door bang. 

“Fuck,” Peter says, sitting up in alarm. He clutches the side of his head.

“Hungover?” Carl laughs.

“Yes,” Peter groans. “God those boys can drink.”

“Which especially?”

“John and Josh and some guy called Tom?”

“Ah. To be expected, I suppose. He only ever goes in when I’m not there.”

“Is that so? How come?”

“I need a cuppa,” Carl says, and goes to make two cups of Tetley’s, both with milk and sugar. 

Peter’s lying down again when Carl goes back in the bedroom. “Cheers,” he says, taking the cup.

“He’s my ex,” Carl says.

“Tom is?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s quite cute, I spose.”

“Yeah, he is.” Carl sits down at the end of the bed. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing spectacular. We just weren’t right for each other. We lived here, together. Josh was Tom’s friend from home so when he moved to London he moved in, and I suppose it drove a wedge between us or something because we just rowed all the time.”

“About Josh?”

“No, god no. Josh is great.”

“So Tom moved out and he stayed?”

“Well, it made sense since we work in the same place and everything.”

“Tom didn’t work there?”

Carl shakes his head. “He didn’t like the place. I’m surprised he ever goes in now, whether I’m there or not. He’s a photographer.”

“Well yah boo sucks to him,” Peter says, nodding decisively. He sips his tea. “This is grand.” He’s naked from the waist up and for the first time Carl sees a tattoo on his bicep. 

“Never noticed that before,” Carl says, motioning to it. “What’s it say?”

“Oh,” Peter sighs. “It’s a heart. Says Katie in it.” He moves closer to show Carl. 

“An ex?”

“The person in Blackpool that I split up with.”

“Oh – oh.” 

“What?”

“I thought you were gay, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.”

“I’m queer,” Peter says. “It’s – it’s complicated.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Carl says softly. “Not really any of my business.”

Peter gives him a small smile.

“Let’s go out,” Carl says, “and see if we can find the rest of the Cabaret costumes.”

*

They do well for the costumes, picking things up on the local market and in H&M. Carl tries the hotpants on at home and feels ridiculous. Okay, so he spends five nights a week in a dress or a corset and skirt, but these feel much, much more revealing. 

“They’re shorter than you’re used to,” Peter says, eyeing him critically.

“You’re telling me,” Carl says. “You can practically tell whether I’m circumcised or not.”

Peter snorts. “Wouldn’t quite go that far, mein Herr. What underwear are you wearing?”

“Briefs, nothing special.”

“Women’s ones?”

Carl nods. 

“I think,” Peter says, “you may need a thong.”

“No way.”

“Yes way,” Peter grins.

Carl goes to rummage in the back of his knicker drawer. He divides work clothes and his civvies, and has an entire chest of drawers and a single wardrobe filled with work clothes. He knows there’s a thong in this drawer somewhere. He finds it eventually, crumpled up. It’s pink and it says, “Lick it and it’s yours” on the front.

Peter nearly goes purple trying to not laugh.

“Fuck off,” Carl says. “It was a promotional thing from somewhere.”

“Sure it was,” Peter splutters. “Sure it was.”

*

Saturday comes way too quickly. They’ve been practicing and Carl’s pretty sure he won’t mess it up, but he’s still nervous. He takes a bottle of whiskey to the club with him.

“Starting already?” Peter asks. They don’t technically share a dressing room, but Peter’s in Carl’s so often that they may as well do. He steals Carl’s make up. 

“Nervous,” Carl says. “Want one?”

“Alright. Prefer a gin, actually, but this’ll do.”

Carl hands the bottle over and Peter takes a swig. “What kind of gin?”

“I’m not really fussy.”

“My mother makes a really delicious damson one. I’ll have to get a bottle for you to try.”

“Yeah? That’d be lovely.” Peter beams.

Carl can’t help but smile back. 

“You need more eyeliner,” Peter says. 

“Do I?”

“Mmm. Come here.” Peter picks up an eyeliner pencil and comes close to Carl.

“Careful,” Carl says, closing his eyes. Peter smells of hairspray. He looks amazing in his costume – fishnet tights, hotpants, a black waistcoat with a pink bra underneath. He managed to find some black tap shoes to dance in, and lent Carl a pair of black heels. He’s gentle with the eyeliner, and eventually stands back to eye his handiwork.

“Perfect,” he says. “You’ll do.”

“Thanks,” Carl says, and takes another gulp of the whiskey.

The crowd is uber rowdy. Carl peers out and can already see problems forming in the queue at the bar. There’s a group of lads standing on one side of the bar. Carl doesn’t like to judge, but they look like straight boys. As soon as he steps out for the opening number, he realises they’re going to be trouble.

“Now then,” he says when he steps into the compère’s box. “Which one of you is going to give me a right good seeing to?” He latches on to one of them, a stout, rugby player looking lad, who’s got his arms folded across his chest. “You, my darling? Definitely my type, sunshine.”

The boy looks vaguely threateningly at all his mates.

“Oh you’ll do very well,” Carl says. “Tiny cock though, I’m betting? I’ll go on top, if you don’t mind…”

He’s won over all the mates. The guy has to laugh or else look like a bad sport. He nods at Carl resignedly, and they do all simmer down.

Carl jumps on the stage for the last number. Peter bows to him and leads him to the chair. The music starts and Peter starts the dance.

Carl looks at almost no one else through the whole thing. Peter is mesmerising, beautiful. He does see the boys on the bar, in perfect time with each other and the music.

There’s a lot of applause once they’ve finished. Peter and Carl each take a bow, and then, once the curtain is closing, Peter kisses his cheek.

Carl smiles up at him and then heads backstage to get changed. 

Everyone gets supremely drunk. Gary and Josh know it’s Carl’s birthday the next day, so they keep plying him with shots to celebrate. Carl ends up leaning against Josh, certain that if he moves he’ll throw up. Gary sees the three of them into the company cab even though they live only a few streets away. 

Peter, drunk, starts singing Danny Boy loudly, all the way in the cab and up the stairs in their building. 

“Shush,” Josh laughs, struggling with the key in the lock.

Peter tugs him into a hug. “Thanks, Joshua,” he says. “Do appreciate the bed and board, you know.”

“You’re welcome,” Josh says, petting him. 

Carl foregoes tea or water and heads straight to his bathroom. He shrugs his clothes off in the middle of the bathroom floor and collapses into bed in his boxers. 

Peter follows only a minute or two later. “Fuck.”

“Mmm,” Carl says. “That.” Without thinking, he puts his arm on Peter’s stomach and into his neck, which now smells reassuringly of Peter and not Petronella, and falls asleep. 

*

He wakes up with a hell of a hangover. Peter extracts himself from under Carl’s arm to go to the loo and then puts the bedroom light on. 

“Fucking don’t,” Carl says.

“Sorry,” Peter says. “Water?”

“Please.”

Peter comes back with two pint glasses full and a packet of paracetomol in his mouth. 

Carl reaches up to take them from him. “Thanks.”

“Any time.”

Once he’s come round a bit, Carl is starving. He pads to the kitchen in t-shirt and shorts; it’s going to be a hot day. There’s not much in the fridge but there’s eggs and bread. He makes three fried egg sandwiches and yells to the others to come and get some. 

“Cheers mate,” Josh says, looking as bad as Carl feels. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” Carl says, and sits down next to him.

“It’s your birthday?” Peter says. “You didn’t say.”

Carl shrugs. “I’m not much into birthdays.”

“Carlos,” Peter says, outraged. “It’s a celebration of you! Come on, let’s do something.”

“Like what?”

“Literally anything, Carlos. This is London. There’s tons to do.”

“Why do you keep calling me Carlos?” Carl looks across at him, amused.

Now it’s Peter’s turn to shrug. “Suits you.”

“Almost as much as Carlita does,” Josh laughs. 

“You can shut up, too,” Carl says. “Want to come out with us?”

Josh shakes his head. “Can’t. I’m working this afternoon.”

“Just me and you, then,” Peter says. “Let’s get ready and decide what to do.”

Carl gets in the shower after breakfast. When he comes out, Peter is just getting ready in the bedroom. 

“Well?” Peter asks. “What would you like to do?”

“Honestly,” Carl says, “I don’t want to stay in the city. What about going to the beach?”

“Down to Brighton?” Peter’s face lights up.

“Sure,” Carl nods. “Have you been?”

“Nope, never.” Peter shrugs a Smiths t-shirt over his head. “You?”

“Mmm, lived there for a while.”

“Lucky.” Peter grins, and picks up his stuff. “Fish and chips?”

“Of course,” Carl says, and gets ready quickly.

*

There’s a breeze in Brighton but it’s hot, and lovely. They get a bus from the station down to the beach and spend an hour in the arcades playing on the machines. 

“You’re too good,” Peter says when he has to change another pound and Carl doesn’t.

“Misspent youth,” Carl laughs. 

“I bet I can beat you at pool.”

“Nah,” Carl shakes his head. “I’ll win.”

“Loser has to buy food.”

“You’re on.” 

They shake hands and wander over to the pool tables. 

Carl wins the first game easily, potting all the yellows and the black before Peter’s even potted three of the reds.

“Not fair,” Peter pouts. “You’re too fast.”

“Can’t tell you how many pints I’ve won challenging people in pubs.”

“Now you tell me. Best two out of three?”

“Alright,” Carl says, and slots the fifty pence into the slot to release the balls again.

Peter wins the next game. He’s trying harder this time, playing risky shots. Carl’s only got one yellow ball left when Peter sinks his last red and then the black. 

“Decider game,” Carl says, grinning. “Then food, and the beach.”

Peter takes it very seriously, taking ages to decide each shot before he plays it, changing his mind on which ball to go for. 

“Come on,” Carl says. “I can easily thrash you much quicker than this.”

“Now now,” Peter says. “Only when I ask for it.”

Carl laughs, watching as Peter crouches to look at the line of sight between the cue ball and one of the yellows he’s playing for. His hair’s all over the place, pushed back from his face, and he’s wearing the blue jumper with the holes in on top of the Smiths t-shirt. He’s so freckly – all over, in fact, not just his face. Carl wants to trace them with his tongue. He wants to show Peter a good time. 

Peter takes the shot and misses the pocket. “Fuck.”

“Shame,” Carl says, and immediately pots a red.

“Fucking hell,” Peter says, crouching down again to look at the table. 

It’s a closer thing this time; they’re both playing for the black ball, but Carl pots it on a long shot from the bottom of the table to the top.

“Jammy swine,” Peter says. “But I like your style.”

Carl laughs properly. “Come on. Food.”

They find a fish and chip counter right on the seafront and buy two lots, unwrapped, and cans of pop. Peter hops down on to the beach, chewing a chip. 

Carl follows. They find a sheltered spot near some rocks and sit down, next to each other, elbows touching. The sun is still hot and Carl tilts his face towards it. 

“Good?” Peter asks. 

“Delicious.” Carl breaks off a piece of fish and pops it into his mouth. He turns to point up the hill slightly. “I used to live up there, in the tiniest studio flat.”

“Lucky. I love the sea.”

“It’s pretty good.” 

“Not warm enough to swim in here, though,” Peter says.

“Not true. I mean, you’ve to be brave. My mum lives in Somerset, I’ve swum there a few times.”

“Yeah? That is brave.”

“I’ll take you some time.”

“That a promise, Carlos?”

Carl nods, spearing a chip with his plastic fork. “She’d like you.”

“I’m very likeable.”

Carl laughs, turning towards Peter. It’s cut off when Peter leans slightly and kisses him.

He tastes of salt, and his lips are sticky from the grease, but it’s the best kiss Carl’s ever had. 

“Sorry,” Peter says, when he pulls away.

“Why would you be sorry?”

“Maybe you didn’t want me to kiss you.”

“Believe me,” Carl says. “I definitely want you to kiss me.”

Peter ducks his head and eats a bit more fish. “Yeah?”

“Yes, idiot.” Carl nudges Peter’s knee with his own. “I want you to do a lot more than that.”

Two circles of colour appear high on Peter’s cheeks. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Oh,” Peter repeats.

Carl shifts closer, ducking his head to match Peter’s, and kisses him again.

“But you’re so beautiful,” Peter says when they pull apart. 

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Why would you look at someone like me?”

“You’re beautiful too,” Carl says. 

Peter still looks unconvinced, so Carl kisses him again. Deeply, properly. Peter squeaks.

“Sorry,” Carl grins, not feeling the slightest bit remorseful.

“No you’re not,” Peter says, but he smiles shyly and then turns back to his food.

They wander along the front street together, walking closely enough to bump shoulders. Carl turns into a shop and them a bag of candy floss to share.

When they kiss again, Peter tastes sweet. There’s a tiny piece of floss at the corner of his mouth. Carl licks his thumb and presses it to Peter’s lip to catch the fragment. 

On the way home they hold hands on the train, low between them and shielded by Peter’s jacket so no one can see. Carl can’t stop smiling every time they look at each other.

Josh is at work still when they get home – not at the club but at his other job in a call centre. Carl’s never asked the specifics, but it seems like Josh got into a lot of debt to move to London. To say he lives frugally is an understatement. 

Carl makes tea, aware of Peter’s eyes on him the whole time. “It’s okay,” he says, carrying two cups over and sitting down next to Peter. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re mad,” Peter says. “I’m an absolute mess. If I was you I wouldn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Just as well I’m not then, eh?”

“I mean it, I’m –”

“Peter, I already have something to do with you. You share my bed.”

“I know, and that’s another thing. You don’t know me from Adam, I could be a right nutter –”

“I know enough by now, divvy. Enough to know I like what I see.”

Peter chews his lip. “Carl…”

“Can you please just relax? Drink your tea.”

Peter does as he’s told, going quiet. They sit in silence for a while, each sipping quietly. Carl flicks the TV on. When Peter finishes his tea, his hand creeps on to Carl’s knee. Carl shifts closer to him, smiling happily. It’s cosy, familiar. Carl’s mum phones to wish him happy birthday, and then Lucie texts to say the same. 

Josh doesn’t come home at his usual time, so Carl texts him. They usually keep an eye out for each other. He mentions it to Peter. 

“Is he okay?” Peter asks when a reply beeps.

“Yeah,” Carl says, reading it. “He’s gone out for a few bevvies.”

“Just us, then.”

“Let’s go to bed.” 

Peter looks at him, quickly. “Okay. Let’s.”

It’s almost 11pm. It’s quiet; Sunday evening silence. They tidy up the living room together and lock up. In the bedroom, Peter swishes the curtains shut, taking care over them. Carl goes to brush his teeth and then undresses down to his boxers.

Peter is more modest. He goes into the bathroom and comes out in his pyjama bottoms and the Smiths t-shirt. He sedately gets into bed and Carl kisses him, heatedly, tugging him down on to the pillows. 

Carl expects – well, he expects to have sex. Why wouldn’t they? They’ve admitted they like each other, they’ve kissed a lot, and Carl definitely wants to. He touches Peter’s stomach and then dips his fingers into Peter’s waistband.

Peter freezes and flinches away.

“I’m sorry,” Carl says immediately. “Too much?”

“Yeah – no. Not because it’s you.”

“No?” Carl moves slightly over on the pillows to look at Peter properly. 

“Give me time?”

“Of course,” Carl nods. “You can have all the time in the world.”

“That’s so cheesy,” Peter says, but he’s smiling. He leans across for a kiss. “It’s just…” He chews his lip again and looks away from Carl. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Carl says, reaching for his hand. 

“Thank you,” Peter says quietly, and nuzzles into Carl’s neck.

They fall asleep curled into each other quietly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not genderqueer so if anything here is wrong I apologise profusely

The next day, Josh comes into the living room when Carl has his feet draped over Peter’s lap and Peter is stroking his ankle absently. 

“Well,” Josh says. “There’s a surprise.”

“Shush, you,” Carl says. “Bought you some rock yesterday, anyway.” He chucks it over.

“Aw, thanks,” Josh grins. He unwraps it, sits down on the other sofa, and takes a huge bite. “So you’re a thing, then?”

“We’re seeing how it goes,” Carl laughs. 

The beam on Peter’s face is practically enough to light up the room. 

Later, at the club, Peter comes into Carl’s dressing room. There’s one big room next door for most of the dancers, but Carl, because he’s been here a long time, has a tiny room to get dressed in. His favourite part is the mirror surrounded by lights. He’s doing his make up in it when Peter comes in.

“Alright?” Carl asks. 

Peter nods. “Just wondering how to do my make up, really.” He’s wearing black Mary Jane heels, silver sparkly tights, and a light blue satin dress. In Petronella’s hair there’s a black headband. Peter’s about to debut an Alice in Wonderland dance that Gary dreamt up months ago but never had the dancers for. Now he does. 

“Not your usual?” Carl asks.

“It’s too much. I’m supposed to look like a doll normally, aren’t I? It’s supposed to be over the top.”

“And Alice isn’t?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Peter comes round Carl’s chair and leans against the counter. The blue fabric strains against his thighs. 

Carl reaches and touches his thigh. Peter smiles softly and puts his hand over Carl’s. “Any bright ideas?”

“Lolita,” Carl says.

“Like how?”

Carl does a quick google search and shows Peter what he means. It’s not too different from the norm, but when Peter’s done fifteen minutes later he looks just like a sweet and innocent little girl.

“I look like my sister,” he laughs, looking in the mirror.

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“I’ve got two,” Peter says. He ducks his head away from Carl’s eyes. “I don’t see them much.” 

“I don’t see mine as much as I should,” Carl says. “What are yours like?”

“Beautiful. Gorgeous, strong, amazing women. Amy and Emily. Love ‘em both.”

“So how come you don’t see them?” Carl asks gently.

Peter takes a deep breath, but before he can speak there’s a knock on the door. 

“Only me,” Gary says. “Pete, can I borrow you a few minutes?”

Peter checks the time on his phone and nods. “Almost show time anyway.”

“Well, if you’re ready…”

“I am,” Peter says. He leans and kisses Carl’s cheek softly. “See you in a bit.”

 

*

That night, when they get home, Peter throws open the balcony doors and steps on to it, lighting a cigarette. Carl’s almost never been on it, but Peter found two discarded chairs on a street a few away and a wooden box from the bar and now it looks almost homely. He sits back on one of the chairs and rests his socked feet on the box. 

“I’ll join you in a minute,” Carl says. He gets in the shower, knackered by the night, and lets the water sluice over him. He towels dry and finds clean underwear and a white vest. 

“Like a young James Dean,” Peter says when Carl goes out to the balcony. 

“Hah.” 

“Nah, I’m serious.” Peter appraises him with one eye shut against the smoke he’s exhaling. “Good look on you.”

“I’m flattered.” Carl nudges Peter’s feet slightly so that he can sit down on the other chair. 

Peter passes the cigarette across. 

“Thanks.” Carl takes a drag. “You were going to tell me about your sisters.”

“Was I?”

“Don’t come the innocent with me, Doherty.” Carl nudges Peter’s foot with his knee. 

“I don’t talk much about my family.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“You don’t talk about yours much either.”

“No? Well, not much to know. There’s me, my mum, my sister, and occasionally my dad.”

“Occasionally?” Peter leans across and steals the cigarette back. 

“They split up when I was little. My dad moved around, looking for work. We didn’t see much of him, really.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“Basingstoke,” Carl laughs. “So rock and roll.”

Peter smiles. “With your mum and…?”

“Lucie. Older, not by much.” Carl lights a new cigarette from the pack on the table. “And sometimes others, too. My mum always had a waif or stray she took pity on. Some of ‘em stayed months, even years.”

“Runs in the family, eh.”

“What do you mean?”

“Josh.”

“Oh. Nah, Josh is more than that.”

“Didn’t mean to imply he wasn’t.”

“My sister lives in Bermondsey.”

“Not far away, then.”

“No. Yours?”

“Amy’s in Cardiff, doing her PhD. Emily was at home, last I knew. She’s younger than me by quite a bit. Only just finishing up her A levels.”

“Ah, I see. Do you miss them?”

“Every day.”

“What happened?” Carl says it quietly, hoping that Peter won’t spook at the question. 

“My dad threw me out. I’m no longer welcome at their house.”

“Oh, Peter.”

He shrugs, looking away from Carl. He’s terrible at eye contact sometimes. “It is what it is.”

“Do you –”

“Excuse me,” Peter says, and abruptly stands up. His leg catches on the chair and it tips over. He ignores it, goes inside, and into the bathroom.

Carl just watches. It’s like getting into a relationship with a particularly traumatised cat. He takes a few drags on the cigarette and waits. 

Peter comes back with his face scrubbed, as if he’s been crying. He’s still wearing the jeans and jumper he got changed into after the show. He smiles at Carl, a little sadly.

“Sorry,” he says, meaning the tipped chair. He leans down to grab it, and as he does the jumper rides up and Carl gets a glimpse of purple lacy knickers. 

He frowns at Peter’s back. Sure, they both spend all their working lives wearing women’s clothes – but most drag queens don’t wear women’s clothes at any other time. Carl can think of maybe two that he’s ever known. Carl likes getting dressed up, but that’s just for his job. Otherwise, he hasn’t ever. 

Not that he has a problem with it. It’s just unusual. Peter can wear what he likes. 

When they get into bed a while later, the sky is already turning pink ready for the day. Carl’s yawning wildly so he’s glad for the blackout curtains to keep the sun out. When they turn the lamp off there’s no light in the window. In fact, Carl can barely see Peter. They cuddle in close. Carl’s hand drifts to Peter’s hip quite organically but then he rubs harder, wondering what Peter’s wearing under the pyjama bottoms. 

“Hey,” he says, laughing. “That tickles.”

“Sorry,” Carl says. Then he does it again, because Peter’s laugh feels like sunshine on his face. 

Then they’re kissing deeply, not laughing at all. Carl shifts more on to his side, nudging his knee between Peter’s thighs. His fingers dance over Peter, wanting to touch him. 

Peter tugs his pyjamas down, still kissing Carl. Carl grins into it and touches Peter’s skin, stroking at the soft skin of his hip and then his dick, feeling it harden beneath his fingers. Peter’s breath is gorgeous in his ear, and his tiny moans immediately get Carl turned on. 

Peter’s hand on his dick is firm and gentle, stroking just right. They come together, kissing messily. For a few minutes neither of them move, just cling to each other in the darkness. 

Carl turns, fumbling for the lamp switch beside him.

“Don’t,” Peter says, fingers clutching at Carl’s hip. 

“You don’t want to get cleaned up?” Carl asks.

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Carl turns back to Peter, tugs him closer again, and settles to sleep.

*

And so it goes for the next few nights. Carl’s not complaining, exactly, but he wants to see. He wants to see Peter’s body and his skin, and he wants to lick every mole and tattoo, he wants to see Peter bite his lip when Carl’s fucking him, he wants to know what Peter’s orgasm face looks like. But every time Carl attempts something with the light on, Peter shuts him down, shrinks away. If it was anyone else Carl would call it a day and move on, but he likes Peter. And anyway, Peter’s sharing his bed, so what’s Carl going to do exactly? 

They don’t get chance to speak to each other at work very much. They get ready together in Carl’s dressing room, helping the other into corsets and stockings, touching up the other’s make up gently. They dance together almost every night now, and each time Peter’s hands linger just a little too much on Carl’s waist, and he winks at Carl at the end of each number. Carl’s doing more dancing and less compering, leaving that to Bethany. She starts off nervous, but by the time she’s done it ten times she’s got the patter down, insulting rowdy groups and endearing herself to the regulars. 

Peter’s always working on something new at home, moving Carl’s sofas against the wall so that he’s got space to move around in. Carl likes to watch him dance, likes the fluidity of his joints. 

“I did ballet until I was twelve,” Peter says bashfully when Carl comments on it. “And some Irish dancing when I was very small.”

“Fuck off,” Carl laughs. “Can you still do it now? All that Riverdance stuff?”

“Kind of. I’m not fit enough any more. It’s brutal.” 

“Teach me a few steps.” Carl stretches a bit, loosening his joints. He stands next to Peter and watches his feet. It’s confusing, even when Peter slows it right down. Eventually he just gives up and watches Peter, who’s feet are moving completely separately to the rest of his body, moving quicker and quicker as the steps come back to him. 

When he comes to a stop Carl applauds loudly and whistles with his fingers. He grins, then flops down next to Carl on the sofa. 

“It’s knackering,” he says. “I’ll never be Little Miss Cork now, will I?”

“You can be my Little Miss Cork, definitely.”

“Charmer,” Peter laughs, and leans to kiss Carl’s cheek. 

“Can we talk?” Carl asks, turning to him. “About us?”

“Surely us is just fine,” Peter says lightly, but his muscles are tensed. It’s almost like he thinks Carl is going to hurt him physically. 

“Yeah, us has been pretty good so far, I agree. But –”

“If this is about sex –” Peter says.

“Partly,” Carl says. “I mean… I’d like to have sex with you. It seems like it’d be fun.” He flashes a grin.

Peter gives him a small smile back. “I think so, too. You’re kind of beautiful.”

Carl laughs. “Thanks, me dear.”

“Let’s get some lunch.”

“Out?”

Peter nods. “My shout.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

They each get changed out of their tracksuit bottoms and t-shirts, and clatter downstairs together. Josh is just coming in the front door as they leave it.

“Joshua!” Peter cries. “How are you?” He catches Josh round the neck and kisses his cheek.

Josh laughs. “You’re as crackers as Carl is, do you know that?”

“Am I?” Peter looks delighted. “Just as well we’ve decided to contain the oddity to each other, isn’t it?”

“Too bloody right,” Josh says, and starts up the stairs as they laugh at him and spill on to the street. 

They walk along the river together. It’s almost deserted, so Carl reaches for Peter’s hand and tangles their fingers. 

Peter smiles at him like Carl’s the sun or something. Carl’s sure he isn’t, but it’s kind of nice to be thought of that way. 

“It’s hard,” Peter says. The smile fades from his face and he turns away. He doesn’t stop speaking, though. “I’m not much into sex.”

“That’s okay,” Carl says. “It’s not a must.”

“It seems to be, with a lot of people.”

“Like Katie?”

“Yeah, like Katie.” 

“Is that why you broke up?”

“No. We broke up because she couldn’t handle my queer self.”

“Because you’re gay?”

“Carl,” Peter says patiently, turning to him. “It isn’t as black and white as that.”

“No?”

“No. Christ, haven’t you ever been with a girl?”

“Well…” Carl starts. 

“Let’s get some lunch,” Peter says, and heads into an old black and white walled pub nearby. He motions Carl into a booth while he goes to the bar. He comes back with two tall glasses with mixer sticks in them.

Carl raises his eyebrows. 

“Gin and tonic,” Peter says, taking a long gulp of his. “Think I need some Dutch courage.”

“To tell me that you’re not gay?”

Peter shakes his head. “Can I ask a few questions first?”

“Course.”

“Have you been with girls?”

“Yeah, a few. Back in my teens and early twenties, before I worked out who I was.” 

“Right.” He takes another drink.

Carl sips his. “Then I realised that I’m gay.”

“And I’m not. That’s all I’m saying. I’m queer.”

“I don’t get how that’s different.”

Peter shoots him a Look. “I like girls, too. I’ve had relationships with men and women and people in between.”

“In between?” 

“Non binary people.” He looks away. “Genderqueer people.”

Carl nods. “Okay.”

“Like me,” Peter goes on. “That’s the bit Katie was having problems with.”

“Which bit?” Carl asks gently. He reaches for Peter’s hand. “Tell me?”

“I’m genderqueer,” Peter says quietly. 

“Right.”

“I don’t feel like a girl, you know? But I don’t feel like I’m supposed to be a boy, either. I’m all mixed up in the middle.”

“I’m sorry you’re all mixed up.”

“I thought I was okay, yeah. I was working as a drag queen and living with Katie and her parents. The Funny Girls were sold out all the time and I was top of the bill.” He takes another drink. “I started wearing some women’s clothes when I wasn’t at work, and Katie freaked out when I told her why.”

“And chucked you out?”

“Pretty much.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault. I know it’s weird, okay? I know most drag queens are cis men who are just playing with the costumes –”

“It’s not weird,” Carl says. “It’s not. Probably most drag queens are that, yeah. But you’re not. So?”

“Feel like it invalidates me. I’m not even a proper drag queen, for fuck’s sake.”

“Course you bloody are. One of our best, actually. And besides, we have women in our show too.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, brightening. “It was one of the reasons I liked the troupe, actually. It felt like it’s more inclusive than most.”

“It is. Gay, straight, all of the queers? All welcome.”

Peter even laughs. “Thanks for understanding.”

“I’m not sure I do, fully. But I’m trying to, yeah.” Carl rubs his fingertips in the condensation on his glass. “I was wondering why we haven’t had sex…”

“Yeah.” Peter sighs again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a huge deal.” It is, Carl thinks, but he feels like if he said that Peter would be too skittish and it would all be over. He doesn’t want that. He can navigate through this. There’s got to be some way to make Peter feel comfortable with it. 

“It is. I mean, I definitely want to sleep with you…”

“Then I’ve already won the battle.” Carl winks at him. 

“I’m scared,” Peter says. “I don’t particularly like my body or what it looks like, you know? It’s a while since I had sex with a man, too. I’m just…”

“It’s okay,” Carl says. “We can go as slow as you want to.”

“Thank you.” Peter reaches for Carl’s hand and kisses his fingers. “It’s kind of weird with your ex’s best friend in the next room, too? I feel like he’s judging me.”

“Josh isn’t judgemental.”

“No, I mostly agree with you – but it’s just what I feel.”

Carl just shrugs. 

“What about if we went away for a night? Somewhere more private.”

“Oh yeah? Dirty weekend?”

“Almost definitely,” Peter grins. 

“Where were you thinking?”

“Oh,” Peter says loftily. “I’ve got a couple of ideas.”

*

A couple of days later, Gary’s got a new dance idea and he comes to the club all enthused about it. “Me and the missus, yeah, we were watching this thing about 80s pop music.”

“Right,” Carl says. He jumps up to sit on the bar, which John is cleaning. 

“Oi,” John says. “Yer arse is in my way.”

“Oh, you’ll live,” Carl says. “Gary’s got a new master plan.”

“Course he has,” John says. “Does it involve me dancing on the bar again?” 

“Only if you’re very lucky,” Gary jokes. “Carl, where’s Peter gone?”

“He’s around.” Carl raises his voice. “Peter?!”

He appears from stage left, raising his eyebrows. “You rang?”

“Bucks Fizz,” Gary says. 

“Ripping me skirt off? I’m in.” Peter comes across the stage and jumps down on to the floor, where Josh is sweeping up. 

“Thought you might be,” Gary says. “What would you need?”

“Not much,” Peter says. “I could sew it, probably. Who’s doing it? Me and Carl?”

“And Bethany and Mary,” Gary says. “I was thinking a whole medley really – you know, cheesy 80s classics. A bit of Wham, maybe that Tiffany song. Carl, can you sort that out for me?”

“Course,” Carl says. He jumps down from the bar and goes across to the DJ booth. His laptop is always there, ready to download songs and meld them together for a number. 

Gary goes up on stage with Peter and the girls and the four of them start to work out some steps, with Gary in Carl’s place. Carl finds Making Your Mind Up and sets it playing, watching as the four of them start to dance. 

The next day, Peter excuses himself just before lunchtime. “I’m off to see a man about a dog,” he says. “I won’t be long. Want anything from the shop?”

They put a short list together and then Peter kisses Carl’s cheek and leaves the flat. 

“You both alright?” Josh asks. “I’m not sure you’ve been somewhere without the other for weeks.”

“Haha, aren’t you hilarious.” Carl pulls a face at him. “We are different people, you know.”

“I know that, Carlos,” Josh says. “I just wasn’t sure you did. How’s it going, anyway?”

“It’s okay, yeah. Why’s everyone calling me Carlos now?”

“Because Peter does it. He met Tom, did he tell you?”

“He did, yeah.”

“Was a bit awkward.” Josh is concentrating very hard on the TV. “Tom said, oh you’re the one taking my castoffs.”

“Charming.”

“That’s Tom for you.”

“How are you, anyway?” Carl asks. “The club’s been stupid busy, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it has. Wonder if word of mouth about the new lady has spread.”

“Petronella has her charms, yeah.” 

“And you’d know all about them.” Josh flashes a grin.

“Is it weird for you? Sharing with the two of us?”

“Nah. Is it a permanent thing?”

“For now,” Carl says. “For now.”

He’s in the ensuite shaving his stomach when Peter comes back. He’s carrying something very heavy with a cover like a nana’s curtains on it. He puts it down in the doorway to the bathroom and says,

“Ta dah!”

“What is it?”

“What’s it look like, Carlos? Honestly. It’s a sewing machine.” He pulls the cover off with a flourish. 

It’s got to be thirty years old if it’s a day. It’s a weird cream colour with brown accents; Carl’s pretty sure his mum had a similar one when he was small. 

“I know it’s a bit dusty,” Peter says, rubbing it fondly. “But it was a real bargain and I had to leave mine behind…”

“It’s lovely,” Carl says supportively. “Really, it is. Is this for the Bucks Fizz costumes?”

“Yep, which was my other purchase.” Peter puts down another bag and pulls from it yard upon yard of shiny slippy material. “Which do you think I should have, red or yellow?”

“Red, definitely.”

“Then you’ll be in yellow, with extremely tight white trousers.”

“Lucky old me,” Carl laughs. “Where did you get all this?”

“eBay,” Peter says. “I went and met a girl in Covent Garden instead of her charging me a fortune for a courier.”

“Can you sew, properly I mean?”

“Can indeed. My mother taught us all when we were small. I can probably still crochet, too, although knitting never really stuck in my mind.”

“You’re a strange one.”

“I know.” Peter grins up at him from where he’s kneeling on the floor. “Oh, you’re off on Saturday night, and so am I. We’re going away.”

“Are we indeed?”

“Yep. I squared it with Gary.”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise, Carlos. I’ll tell you what to pack, though.” He stands up, kisses Carl softly, and then picks up the sewing machine to move it to the corner of the room.

The next day, as they’re walking to work, they pass a small junk shop. They pass it every day, but today Peter stops and touches a small wooden table that might be used for two to eat at in a small kitchen. 

He looks beseechingly at Carl.

“Oh, buy it,” Carl says. “My room’s going to be filled with your crap, isn’t it?”

“Pretty much,” Peter says happily, and goes inside the shop to hand over ten pounds.

*

Peter’s booked a room in a hotel in Soho. They both have the night off and pack a couple of small bags and head off on the tube. 

“Suitably shady,” Carl laughs.

“We are ladies of ill-repute, after all.”

“You speak for yourself.” Carl nudges him on the train just as it pulls into Piccadilly Circus. 

Peter grins. “I’ve never been, that’s all.” 

“No?”

“I’ve barely been to London, to be honest. When we came, we just did all the tourist stuff. Madame Tussauds, Buckingham Palace, all of that rubbish.”

“Yeah, that’s not the real London, is it? I’ve been in some places in Soho, let me tell you.”

“Oh yeah? Seedy sex clubs?”

“Only some of them were seedy,” Carl laughs. 

“Lucky Soho,” Peter says, winking. “To get you all to itself.”

“Div,” Carl says, but he smiles up at Peter.

The hotel is tucked away on a small back street, and their room is on the second floor, tucked into the eaves. Carl puts the bags by the window and looks around. It’s pretty small. The bed is huge, though; king size with about a million pillows and gorgeous sheets. Peter throws himself on the bed with a grin.

“Care to join me?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Carl says. He kicks his Converse off and throws himself next to Peter. 

Peter rolls towards him and kisses him, softly at first but then harder, his fingers in Carl’s hair, his tongue in Carl’s mouth. His fingers trail down Carl’s stomach, fumbling at his flies.

“Hang on,” Carl says, shrugging away. He stands up and undresses, completely. Maybe the way to make Peter comfortable is by showing how comfortable he is himself. Although standing naked in front of anyone is just a tiny bit daunting.

“Come here,” Peter says. 

Carl kneels on the bed and leans down to kiss him, letting Peter run his hands any place he feels like. He settles on his back. Peter kisses down him, licking his stomach. Then he starts to touch Carl, and suck him, and it feels like it’s been years since anyone did that to him. He resists the urge to pull on Peter’s hair – not everyone likes that. Instead he screws his eyes shut and concentrates on not coming. He’s had a shag fairly recently, but not with oral involved, and it’s absolutely one of his favourite things to do. 

When he does come, Peter swallows, grinning up at him filthily. 

“Fuck,” Carl says, and stretches out languidly when Peter moves back up the bed. “That was good.”

“Thanks.” Peter grins again and they cuddle in together for a while and end up falling asleep.

“We should get ready to go out,” Carl says when they’ve been awake a while and Peter’s made a cup of tea for them both. “Bath? Shower?”

“I think I’ll have a bath,” Peter says, and gets up. He takes a couple of layers off, and his shoes, but doesn’t get undressed entirely. Then he goes into the bathroom and locks the door, like he does at home.

Carl, still totally naked on the bed, just sighs. 

*

Carl chooses black jeans and a long-sleeved blue shirt to go out in. He sits on the edge of the bed tying his Dr Martens. Peter’s behind him, dressed in a t-shirt with an anchor on it, and tailored black trousers. Carl’s pretty sure they’re made for women, but he’s trying to not scrutinise too much. Peter looks good in them, anyway. He wraps a pink scarf around his neck, pulls his denim jacket on, and smiles at Carl.

“I’m all yours,” Carl says, picking up his leather jacket.

“I like that blue on you. Matches your eyes.”

“’S why I wear it,” Carl grins. “Where are we going?”

“Noodles. I googled.”

“Excellent.”

They head out of the hotel and follow the scribbled instructions Peter wrote down. It’s a chilly night, and there aren’t too many people on the streets. There’s cars everywhere though; the West End is so busy. 

“Can I ask something?” Peter asks as they’re standing waiting to cross a road.

“Course,” Carl says.

“I think I might want my pronoun to be ‘they’. Can you… Will you?”

Carl looks up at Peter. “If that’s what you want, yeah.”

“Yeah?” Peter grins.

“Yes.” Christ, Carl hadn’t been expecting that. Having a boyfriend is turning out to be a minefield. Fuck – is Peter even… “I suppose I shouldn’t call you my boyfriend, either?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.” 

The pedestrian crossing starts to bleep and they cross over together, in silence. 

“So what shall I call you?” Carl asks, once they’ve turned left to carry on. 

“Well, Peter might be a start.”

“Funny. I mean, to other people. If you’re not my boyfriend.”

“Tell them I’m your Peter. I like the sound of that.”

Carl blinks. “They’re my Peter,” he says, testing it out. 

“Exactly.”

“Okay then.”

“You honestly don’t mind?” They’re chewing their lip, but not looking at Carl.

See, he’s already able to do it. Peter is a they. That is their pronoun. 

“I honestly don’t,” Carl says. 

“You’re actually the best,” Peter says, and leans to kiss him.

The restaurant is a Vietnamese café, with long tables and benches and paper placemats. A waiter leads them across to one end of a table that has a very familiar dark-haired person sitting at it. 

“Oh,” Carl says. “There’s my sister.”

“Sister?”

“Yeah.” Carl goes over, tapping Lucie on the shoulder. “Wotcha.”

“Carl!” Lucie grins and stands up to hug him. “How are you?”

“Would you like to sit here?” the waiter asks.

“Oh,” Carl falters. It seems like Lucie’s on a date – the blonde girl across from her is smiling forcedly at Carl. “No, don’t worry.”

“I’ll just leave the menus here,” the waiter says, giving them to Peter. “I’ll come get your drinks order in a minute.”

“Thanks,” Carl says. “I’m alright,” he says to Lucie. “How are you?”

“I’m good, yeah. This is Rachel,” she says, motioning to the blonde. “My new girlfriend.”

“Hi,” Carl says, smiling at her. “This is Peter. They’re a dancer at the club and we’ve been seeing each other a few weeks now, haven’t we?”

“Absolutely have,” Peter says, beaming. They reach down to shake her hand. 

“Nice to meet you,” Lucie says. “Look, we were going to go to this patisserie Rachel knows afterwards, why don’t you come with us?”

“I’d like that,” Carl says. “Wait for us.”

He and Peter go to sit down. Carl picks up his menu. 

“She’s pretty,” Peter says.

“Hmm?”

“Your sister.”

“Oh, yeah. She’s stunning.”

“It must run in the family.”

“Such a charmer.”

“I’m serious,” Peter says. Their voice lowers. “I promise.”

Carl ducks his head, shy to take the compliment. “Thank you.”

“What are you going to have?” 

“Pork noodles. My absolute favourite dish.”

“Nice choice,” Peter smiles. “I think I’ll go for one of those noodle broths. Maybe chicken.”

Carl can’t stop smiling at them. He feels like a teenager, but he doesn’t entirely care. It’s so lovely. Peter’s lovely. 

They order food and beer, and then chat for the whole time that they’re eating. Peter offers Carl their spoon to taste their soup; Carl does the same, winding a mouthful of noodle around his fork to pass to Peter. When they’ve almost finished, Lucie and Rachel come over and sit in the vacant seats to either side of them.

“Was it good?” Lucie asks.

“Delicious,” Peter says. “Have you been here before?”

“Yeah, it’s one of my favourites. How come you’re up west, anyway?”

“Date night,” Carl says. “We’ve booked a hotel.”

“How nice,” Lucie says, amused. She raises her eyebrows at Carl.

He chooses to ignore her. “So, cake?”

“Macarons,” Rachel says. “They’re the best in London.”

They walk to the tiny patisserie, which is lit beautifully and smells of coffee as soon as they step inside. Carl orders a coffee and lets the others talk him into sharing a platter of the macarons. When he tastes one, he’s taken by the texture of them. This one is a gorgeous pink colour and tastes sharply of raspberry.

“They’re nice, aren’t they?” Peter says.

“When have you had them before? Don’t tell me Blackpool has caught on to them.”

“Unlikely,” Peter grins. “My sister can make them.”

“You have a sister?” Lucie asks.

“I have two,” Peter says proudly. “Amy-Jo, she’s the elder one, and Emily’s the younger one.”

“Ah, sisters are good,” Lucie says, winking at Carl.

After they’ve eaten, they say goodbye outside the patisserie. Lucie hugs Carl tightly. “Phone me,” she says, eyeballing him meaningfully.

“Monday, I will,” he says. He smiles at Rachel. “It was nice to meet you.”

He and Peter walk back to their hotel hand in hand, not saying anything. They go upstairs in the hotel and get ready for bed, still in the same quiet way. Carl’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth with the door open when Peter comes in to brush their teeth too. 

They’re wearing purple briefs, with a tiny pink bow at the middle on the front, and nothing else. And they’re trying very, very hard to be nonchalant about it. 

Carl grins to himself and spits into the sink. Before he leaves the bathroom, he leans to give Peter a big kiss on their cheek. 

He gets into bed, idly watching a film Peter’s found on the TV. There’s a text from Lucie; he’d expected as much. He’ll reply to her later. She’ll want all the gossip, no doubt, but she can wait for it. 

Peter comes back, still acting nonchalantly, and gets into bed. 

“I like the underwear,” Carl says softly, still looking at the TV.

“I – oh. You do?”

“I do.”

“Thank you. They just… Feel better?”

“Good. Prefer you to be comfortable.”

Peter leans over and kisses Carl softly. “Thank you.”

They kiss for a while, hands wandering over each other, being gentle with one another. Carl wriggles out of his boxers but Peter shakes their head when Carl asks.

“Turn the light off?” they whisper. 

“Alright,” Carl says, and reaches above his head for the switch. The TV is still on, so the flickering light falls over them both, but the film is dark so there’s not much light. Peter looks beautiful bathed in blue. Carl kisses them deeply.

It still feels amazing to be inside someone, to be fucking them and hearing them enjoying it. 

“You’re beautiful,” Carl breathes, tracing his fingers over all the moles on Peter’s back.

That elicits a moan that Carl hasn’t heard before and he takes it as encouragement.

“You’re pretty,” Carl says, his other hand on Peter’s hip.

“Fuck,” Peter says, pressing back against Carl.

Excellent, Carl thinks. Make ‘em relax by telling them how pretty they are. He bends awkwardly to kiss the back of Peter’s neck.

They fall asleep tangled in the covers together.


	4. Chapter 4

At breakfast Peter is subdued, concentrating very hard on their teacup and then on their eggs Benedict.

“What’s up?” Carl asks, taking a chocolate muffin from the counter nearby. 

“Nothing,” Peter says.

“Come on,” Carl says. “You’ve barely said a word all morning. Is it the ‘they’? Does it feel weird?”

“No,” Peter says immediately. “It feels _right_. Thank you for using it with your sister. It made me feel like _myself_.”

Carl smiles. “Excellent. What about people at the club? Are you going to tell them? Would you like me to?”

“No,” Peter says. “I thought about that. I thought if maybe we just both started saying it, correcting people… They’ll eventually catch on.”

“Maybe,” Carl says. Most people at work are pretty clued in, but he can be more adamant if they ignore him. He just won’t let Peter know that he’s set people straight. If he tells Gary, he’ll help too, Carl’s sure. “I can definitely make sure they do.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, still morose.

“Please tell me,” Carl says. 

“Well,” Peter sighs. “The thing is, well. If I’m gender queer – what does that make you?”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re gay, aren’t you? Only you can’t be gay and sleeping with me, can you?”

“Can’t I?”

“Carl, be serious.”

“I am being serious,” Carl frowns. “Look, I’m sorry. This is all new for me, yeah?”

“It’s new for me, too.”

“Yeah,” Carl says, sitting back. “I know that.”

“Sorry. Fuck, this is all so…”

“Confusing.”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“I like you, okay. I like you a _lot_. I don’t see why it matters what I am while you figure out who you are.”

Peter shrugs. “I like you, too. I just want us both on the same page. If you’re gay, if that’s your sole identity…”

“Well, maybe it isn’t.” Carl thinks back. “I told you I’d been with girls before, didn’t I? It’s not like I don’t like them. I’m just not all that interested in sleeping with them.”

“But you are in sleeping with me.”

“Definitely.”

“But –”

“Okay,” Carl says. “If it’s my calling myself gay that’s tripping you up, then I can call myself something else.” He looks hard at his empty plate. “I can call myself bi, or pan, or –”

“But what do you _feel_?”

“Peter-sexual,” Carl says, trying to lighten the mood. 

It works; Peter cracks a smile.

“Queer,” Carl says, deciding quickly. “If it helps, I can call myself that.”

Peter nods slowly, chewing. “I think it would.”

“Okay then.”

“You’re sure, though?”

“I’m very sure, yes,” Carl says, and reaches across to take Peter’s hand. 

*

As Carl very much expected, Lucie rings just after dinner. 

“So,” she says when they’ve exchanged pleasantries. “Tell me about Peter.”

“You’re such a gossip,” Carl says. He stands up, touches Peter’s shoulder and goes into the bedroom. “I knew you’d phone.”

“Fuck off, you did not.”

“I bloody did. I knew you’d want all the info.”

“Well yeah. Come on then, spill it.”

“Well, they’re a dancer at the club.”

“A dancer or a drag queen?”

“Both, like me. They’ve been working in Blackpool but things went a bit tits up so they came down here. I offered ‘em a bed for the night and well…”

“You decided to fall for them instead?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Is it mutual?”

“Very much so.”

Lucie laughs. “Oh, love. I’m happy for you.”

“I’m happy for me, too. I feel happy.”

“Ugh, pass the sick bucket. Look, I’m heading down to Mum’s for a couple of days next week – Tuesday and Wednesday, the fifteenth. Why don’t you both come? Bring Peter to meet Mum.”

Carl hasn’t been to his Mum’s house in ages; it’s actually a good idea. “Yeah, okay. Are you driving?”

“Yep, I’ll pick you both up. Tuesday, eight o’clock.”

“Bloody hell,” Carl says. “Might as well not bother going to bed at that rate.”

“I’m sure she’d love it if you both turned up in all your gear.”

“Course she would. Very supportive, my mum.”

Lucie says bye, laughing her head off. 

Carl goes back into the living room, already thumbing a text message to Gary to ask for both of them to have the days off. 

“Alright?” Peter asks.

“Yep,” Carl grins, sitting back down next to Peter, tucking his feet under Peter’s thigh. “We’re off to meet my mother.”

“Are we? When?”

“Next week. I’ve just asked Gaz for the time off.”

“Wow, well. Thank you,” Peter says, and although they turn back to the TV their hand reaches across for Carl’s. 

*

“Well, you lot would look at home on the Morrison’s fish counter,” Carl says on Saturday night, speaking over all the babble from the punters. “And I don’t mean working behind it, neither.”

There’s a ripple of laughter. Carl presses the button for Vogue by Madonna to start up. 

“It’s time for a dance, steers and queers. Strike a pose!” 

The curtain goes up on Peter, resplendent in blonde curly wig and lots of make up. They’re wearing a black cone bra, lacy black knickers, stockings and suspenders, and black platform heels. They look _amazing_. Carl sort of wants Peter to wear that outfit at home. He can’t take their eyes off them for the whole song, forgetting to join in with the moves like he usually does.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Gary says when Carl’s on his break, sitting in Gary’s office drinking a can of Lilt from the fridge under Gary’s desk. “You alright?”

“I’m fine, love,” Carl says. They’re about to do the Bucks Fizz routine for the first time and Carl’s a bit nervous about it, but he’s basically okay. 

“How’s things going with Peter?”

“Good,” Carl smiles. “Really good, thanks.”

“I think you’re in love,” Gary teases, grinning. 

“I think I might be a bit.”

“Bless you. Be careful, yeah.”

“Careful? Of what?”

“That you don’t break his heart and he doesn’t breaks yours.”

“Theirs,” Carl corrects, concentrating very hard on his phone.

“Oh yeah? That Peter’s pronoun?”

Carl nods.

“I’ll use it,” Gary says, and gets up, touching Carl’s shoulder. 

Carl follows him back out into the wings. Peter’s just stepped off from a number and is having a breather. Carl offers them the end of the can of Lilt.

“Cheers,” Peter says. “Alright?”

“Nervous about this new routine.”

“Yeah me too, a bit. Should we get changed?”

They head off together to Carl’s dressing room. The costumes are all set out. Carl gets changed into his costume – tight white trousers and a green velour jumper that Peter found in a charity shop recently. They sewed some yellow stripes on the elbows and also dyed a pair of Carl’s jazz shoes yellow. Carl thinks he got the short straw – he wants to be wearing the red circle skirt that Peter’s slipping over their head. It’s made of a gorgeous shiny lycra.

“Very nice,” Carl says, putting his hands on Peter’s hips appreciatively. 

“Thanks,” Peter grins, and leans towards the mirror to touch up their make up.

As usual, once he’s actually on stage Carl’s nerves disappear. He concentrates on the steps and at the right moment, rips the top layer of Peter’s skirt off. He can hear the cheer from the crowd and flashes them a grin.

“It was excellent,” John says later, when the club is shut and everyone’s clearing up. He lines up some shot glasses and pours tequila into each one. “Have a drink.”

“Thanks,” Carl says, and downs one.

“I hate tequila,” Peter says, appearing at Carl’s side. “I’ve been so sick on it too many times.”

“Lightweight,” Carl laughs, and tucks his arm around Peter’s waist.

“You did excellently,” Gary says. “Seriously, I’m really glad to see how the two of you are working together. I think I’m gonna set up some new publicity shots for the place with the two of you, is that okay?”

Carl’s been here ages and has hardly ever had his face on the publicity stuff. This is a Big Deal. “Of course,” he says, grinning. “Just let us know.”

“Thank you,” Peter says softly.

“Don’t sweat it,” Gary says, picking up a shot glass. “You both keep working on this stuff, okay?”

“Can do,” Peter says. They squeeze Carl’s shoulder and lean to kiss his cheek.

*

Lucie’s car is a tiny battered green VW Polo. The back doors don’t work so Carl has to climb over the middle to get into the back, and then he’s winded when Lucie chucks a bag at him and hits him in the stomach. 

“I’m surprised this death trap is still going,” Carl says. 

“Fuck off, I love it,” Lucie says, getting back into her seat. She lights a cigarette and winds the window down slightly to blow smoke out of it. 

Peter gets into the passenger seat. “Suppose it’s better than your non-existent car.”

“I can’t drive,” Carl says.

“The hell?” Peter turns in surprise. “How?”

“What do you mean, how? I mean, I can’t drive.”

“He’s fucking useless at it,” Lucie says. She starts the car and pulls out in front of someone, eliciting an angry beep of their horn. 

“And you’re not?” Carl says.

“Does this work?” Peter asks, pressing buttons on the stereo.

“Kind of,” Lucie says, and tugs the stereo out of its place. She puts it on Peter’s lap and hands them a cable. “Plug this into the back.”

“See?” Carl says. “Fucking death trap.”

Peter manages to get it working though, and Lucie’s mix CD blares out, and Carl sits back happily, watching the motorway speed by all the way to Somerset.

Chrissy’s house is a small barn, a bit ramshackle in places but cosy enough. She moved down here when Carl left home and moved to London eleven years ago, so he’s never lived here himself. It’s too out in the country for him, but he does like it. She’s got chickens in the garden and a vegetable plot that she’s tending when they arrive. 

“Hello!” she says happily, sticking her spade into the earth. “Come here, my loves, I’ve missed you.”

Carl and Lucie both move in to hug her hard, even though she’s covered in dirt. 

“Oh, gosh, let me get the kettle on. This must be Peter.”

Peter steps forward from where they’re shyly standing by the garden wall. “That’s me. Hi.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Chrissy says, shaking Peter’s hand warmly. “Come in, come in.” She goes inside and moves a cat off the kitchen counter so she can reach to fill the kettle.

Peter bends down to talk to the small white cat. “Hello, puss. What’s your name?”

“That’s Jasmine,” Chrissy says. “She’s very old and mostly loopy, but she rules the house. The others let her get her way.”

“How many are there?” Peter asks.

“About ninety,” Lucie says, starting to unpack the food and drink she brought with her. 

“Ignore her,” Chrissy says. “Let’s see, there’s Jas, and Tulip, and Megs. Ollie’s around sometimes, and Toffee and George.”

“At least four too many,” Lucie says.

Carl can’t tear his eyes away from Peter, though, who’s now kneeling on the floor stroking the cat’s head and murmuring to her softly. 

“You like cats then, eh?” Carl says when they’re all shooed into the living room so that Chrissy can make tea. 

“I love ‘em,” Peter says. 

On cue, Jasmine jumps over the side of the sofa and on to Peter’s lap, where she curls up happily and goes to sleep.

One of the best things about Chrissy’s house is the silence. Carl likes the noise of the city but he agrees that silence is good sometimes, especially early in the morning. He and Peter are sharing the spare room – Lucie’s gone in with Chrissy, bless her. The room has a big pine bed, a pine wardrobe, and the loveliest white sheets Carl’s ever slept in. He doesn’t even care that the curtains are tissue thin; he sleeps until it’s past nine o’clock and more soundly than he has in weeks.

Peter presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” Carl says happily, and turns over. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Like a log, yeah. It’s comfy, isn’t it?”

“It is. Are you okay?”

“I’m more than okay,” Peter says, tucking their arm around Carl. “Thank you for bringing me. It’s lovely.”

“I wanted you to meet my mum.”

“She’s lovely. Do you think I’ve gained her approval?”

“I’d say so, yeah.”

“Good. Good. Because…”

“Yeah?”

“It’s serious, isn’t it?” Peter looks right at Carl, big eyes extremely serious. “You and me.”

“I think so,” Carl says. “If you want it to be, too.”

“I do,” Peter says, and kisses him.

*

Before they go, Chrissy has a bunch of stuff belonging to both Carl and his sister that she wants them to go through and take with them. Carl’s not even sure how this ended up here – there’s so much stuff he’d forgotten about. Programmes for plays he’s been in, posters from troupes he’s decided with. Gig tickets, old work clothes, old t-shirts for bands he’d forgotten he even liked. His stuff is all mixed up with Lucie’s, so they’ve spread it all out on the living room floor and are picking through it piece by piece.

“Anything you don’t want I’ll take to the charity shop,” Chrissy says. She’s curled up in one of the chairs, blowing on a cup of the berry tea she’s made for everyone.

“I’m not sure even the charity shop will take this stuff,” Lucie says, picking up a lilac handkerchief top with string ties. “Yours or mine?”

Carl laughs, taking it from her. “Mine, I think. An All Saints act I once did.”

“I didn’t think it was mine,” Lucie grins. “I’ve never had taste that bad.”

“An All Saints act,” Peter echoes. They’re sitting on the sofa, Jasmine asleep against their thigh. 

“It was the mid noughties,” Carl shrugs. “It was a thing.”

“That is a terrible piece of clothing, though.”

“Shush,” Carl laughs, then puts it on the donate pile.

“I’m telling you, who’s going to buy that?” Lucie protests.

“It’ll go for rags,” Chrissy says. “Things that they can’t sell, they sell the material by weight.”

“It’s literally two hankies and some string,” Lucie says. “Saving the world one hankie top at a time, Carl.”

Carl laughs and picks up the next thing. No, that can go without even a second thought. Rubbish pile. 

Peter leans down and picks up something slinky and sparkly silver. It turns out to be a pair of hotpants. “Please, _please_ tell me these are yours, Carlos.”

“Sadly not,” Lucie answers for him. “Mine.”

“Can we take them?”

“Be my guest,” Lucie nods. “I’m sure they’re not my kind of thing anymore.”

“Will they fit you?” Carl asks Peter.

“I’m not thinking about me, sweetheart.” They waggle their eyebrows at Carl.

“Me?”

Peter nods. “Kylie Minogue.”

“Oh, Christ.”

“It’ll be great.”

“They’re always great, love,” Carl says. “Seriously,” he says to his mum and Lucie. “Gary’s really impressed with what Peter’s come up with so far. He’s said he’s going to put us on new publicity posters.”

“Excellent,” Chrissy says supportively. 

“What are we going to wear for the photos?” Peter asks.

“I dunno. I’d offer to wear those except I think I’d look like Rocky in the Rocky Horror Show.”

Peter laughs. “And your problem is…?”

Carl joins in. “We’ll have a dig around at home, yeah?”

“Okay,” Peter says. “I’m sure we can rustle up something fabulous.”

*

Carl has actually danced to Kylie songs before, but it’s been a while. Still, he can remember a lot of the moves. He teaches them to Peter in the living room, while his compilation of her music plays on a loop. They’ve both got it down to a fine art; yet another fantastic medley for the club. 

“I love it,” Gary says when they show it to him. “I especially love the outfit, Carl.”

“Thanks,” Carl grins down from the stage. He’s wearing an almost exact replica of Kylie’s outfit: the hotpants and a dark gold top that Peter made. There’s not much to it, but Peter measured it on Carl’s body and gently pulled it over his head to sew it. Carl bought strappy gold sandals and a blonde wavy wig. It’s almost classy.

Whereas Peter’s outfit is decidedly _not_. They’re dressed as 80s Kylie, with a blonde bubble perm wig, a lycra miniskirt, a striped top, and amazing fuck-me shoes. “I look like an Eastenders extra,” Peter said earlier, and although Carl laughed and disagreed, he can sort of see it. He likes it, though. 

“Wear this for the photoshoot,” Gary says. “We’ll push this hard, yeah? Kylie extravaganza.”

They both agree and so, the next morning, head over to a studio with the Kylie outfits in hand. Gary said the photographer would meet them there. When they walk up the alley towards where the studio is, Carl catches sight of Tom.

“Oh, fuck,” he says.

“What?” Peter frowns at him but then looks up. “Oh.”

“Didn’t know it was him.”

“Been stitched up good and proper.”

“Yeah. Thanks very much, Gary.” Carl plasters a smile on his face anyway. “Tom.”

“Alright,” Tom says, straightening up from where he’s been slouching against the wall. 

“I didn’t realise it was you,” Carl says, then wishes he hadn’t. “Is he paying you?”

“Course he is. I’ve been in, it’s a nice setup.” Tom holds the door open for them. Inside, he leads them up a narrow, battered staircase and into a room with a crumbling roof. There’s lights already set up against the white wall. 

“You’ve met Peter,” Carl says. “I believe.”

“Yeah, at the club. Hiya, alright?”

Peter nods mutely and then goes into the bathroom to get changed.

“I won’t look,” Tom says, going over to a chair and turning away from Carl. 

“I’ll wait until Peter’s done, I think.”

“Time’s a-wasting, though. We’ve only got an hour.”

“What? Fuck, why?”

“Gary’s orders, mate.”

“Fuck’s sake.” Carl leans down and pulls off his baseball boots, then sheds his jeans. “Fucking turn your back to me, will you?”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before, remember.”

“So? I’m not a piece of art.”

“Nah, just a free show usually.”

“Fuck off.” Carl chucks his clothes in a pile and wriggles into the hotpants. He’s basically naked in front of his ex, while his current partner has the luxury of a bathroom. Carl could’ve gone in there with Peter. Fuck, fuck Gary. Why hire someone you know is a dickhead? 

Peter comes out with all the Kylie clothes on but none of the make up. They won’t really look at Carl, but just drag a chair across to the only window. It’s got a sheet pinned up in place of a curtain, but Peter moves it out of the way, their hand mirror wedged against the window and a million products lined up. 

Carl’s make up looks awful, he can tell. He’s layered it on thickly, because otherwise he can look washed out in flash photos. He had wanted to be sexy in this outfit, to do the whole Kylie on a podium thing, draping himself seductively at the camera. But doing that feels like he’s coming on to Tom, who keeps wandering around him, camera in hand, clicking furiously. Instead he looks up, or down, or any place that isn’t Tom. 

“Fucking _look_ at me,” Tom snaps after fifteen minutes. 

“It’s hard, alright? I’m supposed to be sexy, you know? Kylie in the gold hotpants.”

“Yeah, I got the reference. Don’t want to look sexy for me? Shame.”

“You _hate_ this stuff. I thought that was the main issue between us.” Carl feels at a disadvantage, sitting on the cold floor with his arse cheeks out. Tom’s looming over him and it makes him very uncomfortable. 

“I’m a professional,” Tom says, “and so are you. Just do whatever you wanted to.”

Carl tries, but it’s still no good. All he can remember is him and Tom together, in bed. They’d had some wild, amazing sex in their time. Carl hadn’t ever had sex like that and hasn’t since, either. Looking into Tom’s eyes just brings it all back – a night in the flat where they’d had quickies all over the place and had then collapsed into the bed, sweaty and kissing each other all over, to take it really slowly, fucking and stopping each other from orgasming for hours. He looks away. 

Tom sighs. “Can Peter come in too? See if I can get anything better from you if he’s here.”

Peter steps in. “Course.” They stand close to Carl, touching his bare back lightly.

Okay, okay, Carl can do this. He concentrates very hard on pouting at the camera, looking into the lens from under his eyelids, winking suggestively at it at one point. All the while, Peter’s hand is on his back and Peter’s pulling a very innocent face, all wide eyed and shiny at the camera.

“Better,” Tom says. He keeps going around them, clicking pictures from all angles. “Pete, mate, were you wearing a rosary when you came in?”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “Want me to grab it?”

“I like the idea of sort of two sides of Kylie? Innocent, virginal – wipe off some of the make up, yeah? Can you do it again, but… pinker?”

“Pinker?” Carl snorts. 

“Pink blusher, pink lipstick. I wonder if I’ve got any glasses with me…” Tom goes to look through his stuff – a travel case of small props that he’s had for years. He finds a pair of black-rimmed frames with no lenses in them and hands them to Peter. 

Peter kneels down this time, so that the shoes aren’t on display. Their make up is a lot more subtle, and they’ve even drawn on a beauty mark with eyeliner. The rosary – a black wooden one – hangs around their neck. 

“Fuck, yes,” Tom breathes, and goes right up to Peter to take photos. 

Christ, Peter looks pretty. When Tom motions to Carl, he moves in too, so that the two of them are back to back.

“Lose the shoes,” Tom says to Peter, who chucks them back towards their stuff. “Thanks.”

Peter’s fingers reach for Carl’s on the side of them that’s away from Tom. Carl rubs back, gently, and looks up into the camera. Peter is still kneeling, their bare feet touching Carl’s bum. Carl’s got his knees raised but then he moves them, crossing one over the other. 

“Excellent,” Tom says, grinning. “Very seductive.”

Carl sticks his tongue out just at the moment that Tom presses the button.

*

Peter’s quiet all the rest of the day, but then they both have to go to work, so Carl doesn’t get much chance to concentrate on it. That night they do the Bucks Fizz routine and the Cabaret one and although Peter smiles at Carl in the finale, they’re not as happy as they usually seem to be. They both stick around to have a drink afterwards, and Peter gets drunker than Carl’s seen them get before. 

When they leave the club to go home, the evening is chillier than Carl was expecting and the fresh air sobers him up. Peter isn’t walking beside him, but is wandering across the pavements, singing softly.

“What are you singing?” Carl asks, looking across at Peter.

“Did you love him?” Peter says, ignoring the question. 

“Tom?”

“Yeah.”

“I did, yes.”

“Fuck.”

“Peter, I’m not with him now, am I? It’s in the past.”

“I know, but…”

“But what?” 

“Just the way you were today.” Peter comes to a stop. “It was like you were apologising for wearing that stuff.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t. I don’t care what he thinks.”

“You do. It was obvious.”

“Peter…”

“No, don’t just brush me off. You kept glowering at him.”

“Because I don’t _like_ him anymore, isn’t that obvious?” Carl starts walking again, his hands in his pockets. 

“I just heard how you were with each other.” Peter catches up to Carl. “Like you both still cared what the other thought.” 

“We were together a long time, yeah. It didn’t end well, you know that. He hated my job, he hated how I dressed for it. Said I didn’t ‘need’ to do that. Silly me, because I thought that if you loved someone you supported them in doing whatever they wanted. I thought that loving someone meant being happy for them.”

“I love you,” Peter says. It comes out forceful and Carl thinks he’s heard wrong to start off with. 

He stops, looking up at Peter. 

“I love you,” Peter says, more softly. “I know we haven’t known each other very long, but I do. There’s just something between us, isn’t there? Something good. Something real.”

Carl’s stomach flips and he wants to laugh, but he knows that would be the worst possible thing he could do to Peter. It’s not because it’s funny, but because he’s been thinking the same thing. 

His mouth won’t say the words, though.

Instead he kisses Peter’s mouth and takes their hand. 

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get home and get a cuppa.”

In the flat, Josh is already asleep. Carl quietly makes two cups of tea while Peter gets changed and ready for bed. Carl puts Peter’s cup of tea on their side of the bed, and gets undressed out of his civvies, staying in just his boxers. 

Peter’s reading, some weighty tome with a red leather binding. They don’t really look up at Carl. Carl texts a few people, reads Twitter, and then puts his phone down and looks at Peter.

“You’re worth a thousand Toms,” he starts. “A thousand of anyone I’ve been with. There is something between us, yeah. Quite agree with you there.”

Peter smiles and puts the book down. “Thank you. Sorry I got jealous. I just saw sparks between you.”

“Yeah, there were always sparks. They turned into huge, raging forest fires.”

Peter laughs. “I really don’t like him.”

“I don’t think you have to.” Carl moves to kiss Peter, softly at first but then deeper, shifting ever closer to them. 

They both move deeper under the covers, Peter tugging at Carl’s hip to make him move closer. 

“I love you,” Carl murmurs, lips mere millimetres away from Peter’s.

Peter just kisses him in response.


	5. Chapter 5

The new posters look fantastic. Tom’s done some editing on them, and the words “Kylie Through The Ages” are on the bottom. 

“Peter looks great,” John says, peering over Gary’s shoulder. 

“They really do,” Gary says happily, and goes to put the really huge one up in the frame outside. 

For the next few weeks Carl barely slows down. The club is always full; he and Peter are a big draw. Carl is nervous at first because the penultimate part of the dance is him, spinning on a podium that Gary’s managed to rig up, dancing around a pole. He’s never poledanced before and he’s sure he’s going to fall off the stiletto sandals and off the podium. He gets a huge round of applause, though, each time. 

Gary gives everyone a bonus in their pay, and bigger ones for Peter and Carl. He tells them this when he hands them their payslips at the end of the month. “I’ve never had the place so busy. I’ll tell you, when Michael left I wondered whether Carl had the guts to carry on by himself.”

“Charming,” Carl says, grinning. 

“Just being honest,” Gary says. “I’m happy you’ve proved me wrong.”

Carl kisses Peter’s cheek. “Couldn’t have done it without Peter.”

“Keep doing it,” Gary says, touching Carl’s arm. He goes off to talk to Bethany.

“Bloody hell,” Peter says, opening their payslip. “This bonus is two grand.”

“Jesus Christ,” Carl says, and checks his. It’s the same. “Very generous of him.”

“Very very,” Peter laughs. “Let’s go away somewhere. For a week.”

“A week? Yeah, alright. Where to?”

“Ibiza,” Peter says. “Where else?”

*

They’re packing to go away only a few weeks later. It’s early October and the temperature in Ibiza sounds perfect – much better than the blustery and wet autumn London is experiencing. Carl lifts down his red suitcase from the top of the wardrobe and blows an inch of dust off it.

“Not been away in a while?” Peter laughs. 

“It’s no fun to go by yourself.”

“Poor love.” Peter’s case is the one they arrived in the club with. It’s old and battered and a pale baby blue and they won’t be persuaded to borrow Josh’s smart black rolling suitcase, no matter how much Carl argues. “I like this one,” Peter says protectively. “I bought it in a junk shop in Glasgow and I’ll never be parted from it.”

“Typical,” Carl sighs. He’s opening drawers in his non-work clothes chest of drawers, looking for some summer stuff – cut off shorts, vest tops, that kind of thing. The thing is, since Peter moved in, all the clothes have got mixed up. There’s just so much that it’s kind of overwhelming. “Right,” Carl says. “Can you go and fetch some black big bags? We’re going through all this.”

Carl pulls everything out of the cupboards and the drawers into a big pile in the middle of the floor. Fortunately it’s a big enough room that the two of them can still move around it. Peter sets three big bags out – keep, donate, get rid of. 

“Anything that you want, just grab it,” Carl says. “I don’t mind. What’s yours is mine and vice versa.”

“True love,” Peter grins, and picks up a couple of dresses that were in the back of Carl’s wardrobe – a purple one and a long black one. 

“Gawd, I’d forgotten all about that black dress,” Carl says. “It was one of Carlita’s first outfits. She had a black fan and one of those net things in her hair. She danced to _Hips Don’t Lie_.”

Peter laughs. “Right, we’re bringing that back. Where was that, at Boulevard?”

Carl shakes his head. “My first club, in Basingstoke.”

“Ah.” Peter finds a hanger for the dress and puts it back in the wardrobe.

There’s loads that Carl doesn’t want anymore. He finds all his summer stuff too, and packs them into his case. “I cannot for the life of me find any swimming shorts.”

“We’ll go and buy some.” 

“No skinny dipping? Shame.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Peter laughs.

“What are you going to wear?” 

The smile falls from Peter’s face. Clothing is still such an issue, something Peter finds hard to deal with. They can’t ever seem comfortable. It makes Carl’s heart ache. 

“Buy some tankini shorts,” Carl suggest. “They don’t even have to be in a bright colour or anything. Just black.”

“Maybe.” 

Carl leans to pick up his laptop. “Where might be good?”

“I don’t know. I only buy work clothes, never usually, you know, clothes I might wear casually.”

“Asos,” Carl says, and brings up the website. 

“What are you…” Peter starts, but trails off.

“What do you fancy?” Carl brings up the pages of women’s swimwear.

“Those,” Peter says softly, pointing. “Maybe those, too.”

Carl clicks around a lot, adding things to the basket that Peter likes. He adds a few things too, some t-shirts and some swimming shorts. Then he signs in, clicks order, and grins at Peter. 

“Easy peasy,” Peter says, and goes back to the pile of clothes. 

Carl chucks out a few white t-shirts that have yellowed with age. He’s not really paying attention to Peter, who’s trying on shoes, until they say,

“Carlos, my love, what is _this _?”__

__Carl looks up. They’ve pulled out something red, white, and blue and are holding it up with questioning eyebrows._ _

__“Oh,” Carl laughs. “It’s a Union Jack dress, obviously.”_ _

__“Of course it is. Ginger Spice?”_ _

__“How did you guess?”_ _

__“I’ve played Baby before. All lollipops and dolly shoes.”_ _

__Carl grins. “That’s adorable? We should resurrect it.”_ _

__“Yeah!” Peter says enthusiastically. “God, we could have everyone – do you think John would play Posh for us? He’s got the cheekbones.”_ _

__“Possibly – I mean he’s never been in drag before I don’t think, but he’s usually up for anything.”_ _

__“I’ll try to persuade him.”_ _

__“Lucky John.”_ _

__Peter laughs and sets the dress aside. “I’d need a new wig. One that I can easily put in pigtails. And shoes – oooh and a new dress. Maybe lilac?”_ _

__“Then order them,” Carl says. “Spend some of your fancy bonus.”_ _

__Peter laughs and reaches again for the laptop._ _

__*_ _

__Ibiza is hot and beautiful. And relaxing. Their hotel has two pools, and their room has a beautiful balcony where they watch the sun go down each day. They work on some dance moves for the Spice Girls medley, so they’re ready to show Gary when they get home._ _

__“Well, you two look disgustingly tanned,” Gary says on their first day back. He’s loading beer barrels behind the bar._ _

__“Yeah, you do,” John says, looking up from where he’s putting clean glasses back on the shelves. “Good time?”_ _

__“Amazing time, thank you,” Carl says. “Did you miss us?”_ _

__“Like a hole in the head,” John says._ _

__“Aww, Johnny boy,” Peter says. “I didn’t know you cared.”_ _

__John laughs._ _

__“Anyway,” Peter goes on. “I’ve got a question for you.”_ _

__“Oh yeah?”_ _

__“Will you be our Posh Spice?”_ _

__John laughs, thinking Peter’s joking, but then stops when he realises they’re not. “I don’t do drag, you know that.”_ _

__“I do, but you can dance…”_ _

__“Mmm…?”_ _

__“So I wondered if you’d give it a go. We both did. Right Carl?”_ _

__“Oh – yeah,” Carl says. “You’d be excellent, pouting and pointing all over the place.”_ _

__“Fuck off,” John says, pretending to glower._ _

__Carl laughs._ _

__“Pleeeeeease?” Peter says, and bats their eyelashes at John._ _

__“Oh, alright, Jesus. Who else have we got?”_ _

__“Well Carl’s Ginger Spice, obviously –”_ _

__“Oh yeah, penchant for the Union Jack eh?”_ _

__“Exactly,” Peter beams. “But then we’re not sure. Josh?”_ _

__Josh straightens up from where he’s been restocking a fridge. “I’ll be Sporty, if you want. I can do backflips and stuff.”_ _

__“ _Can_ you?” Peter says delightedly. “On the stage?”_ _

__“Where else am I gonna do them?”_ _

__“Do some now?”_ _

__Josh pretends to sigh, but then steps up on the stage and does a cartwheel one way and then a backflip the other._ _

__“Wow, you really don’t need a lot of room to do that, do you?” Peter says._ _

__“Nope,” Josh says. “Am I in?”_ _

__“Definitely.”_ _

__“Have you got costumes sorted?”_ _

__“We’ve had a few ideas,” Carl says. He’s got a bag full of stuff and he opens it up, pulling out a navy blue sports bra and Kappa tracksuit bottoms to hand to Josh._ _

__“Lucky old me,” Josh says._ _

__“I’m really not sure about this,” John says when Carl holds up a very long, very slinky black gown._ _

__“You’ll be perfect,” Peter says. “Just put it on for a second so we can rehearse a little bit.”_ _

__John disappears into the back._ _

__“Yes,” Gary says when they both look at him. “Yes it is totally racist that you expect me to be Scary Spice.”_ _

__“You don’t have to,” Carl says. “Bethany could do just as good a job.”_ _

__“Are you kidding? I’m not missing out on this.” Gary grins widely. “I’ll gladly be the Mel B to your Geri, love.”_ _

__“Excellent!” Peter says, and passes across the clothes they’ve chosen for Scary – leggings and a bra in leopard print, of course._ _

__Carl and Peter both stay in their dance clothes for rehearsing, despite making everyone else get changed._ _

__“You’ll see ours on the night,” Peter says. “We’re still putting together the finishing touches.”_ _

__“Typical,” Gary says._ _

__“Looking resplendent there,” Carl laughs, jumping down to the DJ console to put the Spice Girls mix he’s made on. The first line of Wannabe starts and Carl jumps back on to the stage next to Peter._ _

__They take the steps slowly to begin with, showing the others. They go through them over and over, resetting the music and doing different dance steps to each of the songs that Carl has worked in._ _

__By the time it’s time to get ready for the evening, everyone’s almost got it. Peter bounces backstage gleefully._ _

__“It’s going to be amazing,” they say, gathering Carl into a hug. “I can just feel it.”_ _

__*_ _

__Practicing the dance takes forever. John and Josh aren’t used to doing such intricate dances and can’t get the change between the songs right. Their rhythm is all off and no matter how slowly they all take it, it puts out the rest of the dance, or it means that both of them skip a few steps to try to get catch up. That makes Peter stumble slightly too, and the whole thing is just _off_. _ _

__Carl tries taking John and Josh each, alone, to see if he can get them in time just with him. Josh is hopeless._ _

__“How do you manage to dance on the bar?” Carl asks. “Without falling off it?”_ _

__“It’s not all this fancy shenanigans.” Josh starts again from the top, the Wannabe bit._ _

__“Don’t start there,” Carl complains. “You know all that bit off by heart. It’s when it moves into Say You’ll Be There that you lose it.”_ _

__Josh sighs and they start from the end of the Wannabe bit._ _

__John fares a little better with just Carl, but when all five of them try again it’s still off._ _

__It’s Monday._ _

__“Come on guys,” Gary says. “We can do this. Dress rehearsal on Friday night, yeah. Then we go live on Saturday.”_ _

__“And if you can’t do it, it’s three fifths of the Spice Girls and two idiots in black,” Carl teases. “You can go back on the bar.”_ _

__“Fuck off,” Josh says._ _

__“Look,” Peter says. “Let’s film it, and see exactly what’s going wrong.” They go and put their phone on record on a chair at the edge of the stage, checking that everyone can be seen in it._ _

__When they’ve finished they crowd around the phone to watch it back. John’s concentrating very hard on watching Peter and has it almost right. Josh falters a couple of times but he’s done better too._ _

__“You know what it is,” Josh says, punching Carl lightly in the arm. “I’ve been watching you, yeah, but that time I watched Peter, and they’re clearly the master here.”_ _

__Peter starts laughing loudly. Carl pouts and punches Josh back, maybe a tiny bit too hard._ _

__*_ _

__Peter still won’t reveal the outfit at the dress rehearsal on Friday, so they’re wearing Carl’s shiny blue dress to make do. Carl’s outfit isn’t quite ready, so he’s wearing a t-shirt and shorts and the boots he’ll be dancing in. Everyone else is dolled up perfectly._ _

__“Not a hair out of place,” Carl says, grinning. “You all look great.”_ _

__“I’m impressed with this lipstick,” John says, pouting and pointing at Carl._ _

__“Excellent,” Carl laughs. “We’ll make a queen out of you yet.”_ _

__“Oi, no,” Gary says. “I can’t afford to lose a decent barman.”_ _

__Carl starts the CD and gets into his position on stage. The first line is his and he belts it out confidently along with the track._ _

__Bethany applauds loudly when they’ve finished, when the last line of Spice Up Your Life sounds and everyone freezes in their final position: Carl in the middle with his arms up in victory, and the others crouched around him, their fingers pointed in guns at the audience._ _

__“It’s great,” Bethany says. “You’ll be great tomorrow.”_ _

__“I hope so,” Carl says. “Thanks lads. See you later.”_ _

__The next day, Peter’s finishing off Carl’s costume. The old dress fell apart when Carl tried it on, so Peter’s making another. It’s much shorter. He’s got tiny shorts to wear underneath it and a brand new red bra to peep out over the top. He shaves extra carefully, using two mirrors to examine himself from all angles while Peter’s sewing in the bedroom._ _

__He’ll do. He gets in the shower and goes back into the bedroom afterwards with the towel wrapped round his waist._ _

__“I think it’s ready,” Peter says. “Do you want to try it on?”_ _

__“I do,” Carl says. He dries off and puts the red bra on._ _

__Peter passes him the dress, standing close to him. Carl puts it on carefully. It’s tight. He pulls it down over his bum, which is still bare. It just skims the top of his thighs._ _

__“Wow,” Peter says, stepping back._ _

__“Is it good?”_ _

__“It’ll look better when you’ve got the shorts on and your cock isn’t wandering free, but yeah.”_ _

__Carl laughs. “My cock can do what it wants, thank you.”_ _

__Peter waggles their eyebrows. “It certainly can, my love.”_ _

__“Is that a promise?” Carl says, shifting closer for a kiss._ _

__“Take the dress off,” Peter says in a low voice._ _

__Carl does, slowly, wiggling sexily as he does so and edging backwards towards the bed._ _

__Peter follows, pushing Carl backwards gently, kissing him hard. “You can keep the bra on,” they whisper into Carl’s ear. “I like it.”_ _

__*_ _

__The club is packed to the gills. Gary hired extra tables to put in the back, and there’s loads of people milling around in the pit part, where punters can stand. Gary’s working behind the bar while the early dances are going on, rushed off his feet along with John and Josh._ _

__At the interval, they all come backstage._ _

__“Christ knows how you talked me into this,” Josh says, knocking back a shot. “Tom’s out there, you know.”_ _

__“Is he?” Carl says, looking up from where he’s plucking his eyebrows in the magnified mirror. “Why?”_ _

__“Cos I’m doing drag! He’s come to mock me!”_ _

__“Rude of him,” Peter says. They’re sitting on Carl’s counter, carefully applying foundation._ _

__“Good for him,” Carl says. “He’s being supportive, right? Like friends should be.”_ _

__“Exactly,” Josh says. He strips to his boxers, reflected in Carl’s mirror, and slips Sporty Spice’s sports bra over his head._ _

__Carl gets ready, tugging on fishnet tights, sliding into the shorts and bra, positioning his fake boobs under his own chest to give a very pleasing cleavage when he’s finished. Peter disappears into Carl’s room to get changed. Carl pulls the dress over his head and wiggles it into position over his bum._ _

__“You look amazing,” John says to Carl. “Where did you get the dress?”_ _

__“Peter made it, actually.” Carl slips his feet into his black biker boots, stacked with a platform heel._ _

__“They’re very talented,” Josh says, grinning._ _

__Carl’s caught with a sudden rush of affection for Josh and hugs him gently._ _

__Josh hugs back, then pulls away. “Careful,” he says. “You’ll mess up me make up.”_ _

__Show time is at 9.30pm. Everyone is ready, but Peter still hasn’t made their entrance. Carl goes to his room and knocks gently on the door. “You okay in there?”_ _

__“I’m fine,” Peter calls. “I think I’m ready.”_ _

__Carl’s seen the dress but not the whole outfit, so he’s excited to see what Peter looks like. “I’ll be in the wings when you’re ready.” He goes back to round up the others and watches the end of Mary and Bethany dancing to Money Money Money, their backs together, walking to the front of the stage. The music stops and applause breaks out._ _

__God, Carl feels sick. This is basically the most important thing he’s done in his career. He knows he knows the dance, but he feels like his feet will betray him._ _

__The DJ track switches to the interim music, just some 80s pop stuff that Gary’s put together. He looks fantastic, fake boobs squished into a leopard print bra, his abs on show. His shoes are platform trainers, making him much taller than he usually is._ _

__There’s a rustle behind Carl and he turns at the same time that Josh says, “Wow.”_ _

__“Thanks,” Peter says, joining the group._ _

__Fuck, they look amazing. Carl looks them up and down, taking in each part appreciatively. Their trainers are pink, patent, with white laces. They’ve got white socks with lace ruffles on them, and their legs are bare. The dress is pink latex, stretched closely over Peter’s body. Carl reaches out to touch it, looking up at Peter’s face. They’re wearing bright pink blusher, bubblegum pink lipstick, and lashings of black mascara. They’ve bought a new wig, too, one that is really close to looking like real hair. It’s pale blonde, and the hair is poker straight, with a very cute blunt fringe. Peter’s styled the hair into two long pigtails, held in place with pink glittery butterfly clips._ _

__The pièce de resistance is a pink lollipop in Peter’s mouth, adding to the innocent air._ _

__“Holy fuck,” Carl says, bringing Peter in closer to him. “You look amazing.”_ _

__“Thank you,” Peter grins. “So do you.”_ _

__“This dress is obscenely short.”_ _

__“Well, don’t do any sudden bending over.”_ _

__Carl laughs. This is going to be great. The music changes to their warm up music and Bethany starts to introduce the act, her voice upping the anticipation in the club. Carl looks at Josh, who’s going onstage first, backflipping his way into position. Josh winks at him and springs off._ _

__Gary’s next, bouncing like Tigger to the music. John sashays on, pout firmly in place._ _

__“Born to the drag game, that one,” Peter mutters._ _

__“Tell me about it,” Carl murmurs. “We’ll make him into one of us, I promise.”_ _

__“Well, this is us,” Peter says, taking Carl’s hand to squeeze._ _

__“Break a leg,” Carl says, and jogs onstage to the front with Peter following close behind, both ready for their dance._ _


End file.
